


you're always welcome here

by Silverine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Family Fluff, Farmer Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, M/M, Mild Smut, More than once oops, Near Death Experiences, No matter how bad it looks it will end well, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, implied veracxa, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 22:38:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverine/pseuds/Silverine
Summary: An unexpected tragedy that occurs during his work hits Keith harder than it should, and his fellow Blades decide that it’s time for their leader to take a well-deserved vacation. However, being sent “home”, he isn’t sure where to go...Or is he? Because, if he is honest to himself, there’s only one place he’d rather be, one person he’d rather see, and one question that doesn’t let him sleep.“Do you have any regrets?”A post-canon story, set 8 years after the series finale.





	you're always welcome here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no klance, and after that ending that's not acceptable, right? Hmph. 
> 
> I'm putting a few warnings here because tagging this was a bit hard:  
> \- There are mentions of PTSD that are quite shallow, but still there.  
> \- There are some mentions of Keith's past relationships, though none will intrude in the storyline.  
> \- There is smut, not very explicit, but if you don't feel comfortable reading that, please jump to the next cut line to avoid it. You'll notice when it's starting, but I'll give you a code: hair tie.  
> \- Towards the end, there are mentions of narrow spaces, fire and near death experiences. If any of this is triggering for you, I'll give you another code: Galra kid. Skip to the end notes!
> 
> I owe this entire fic to my wonderful friends, wives and betas, kunfetti and [Birdsandivory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandivory/pseuds/birdsandivory)!! They had to deal with me for the 6 weeks I've whined while writing this. Thank you so much!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story!

 

Feeling the heat of flames on his cheeks, carried by the sharp nocturnal winds of Mar-Sara, Keith’s eyes reflect the hypnotic dance of purple ceremonial pyres, casting long shadows under the mourners' feet.

In silence, he stands with his own people at a prudent distance, watching Galra inhabitants of the colony give their last goodbyes to the unfortunate victims of the mine cave in. He barely blinks, staring at them intensely. This unnerving sight of fire engulfing lifeless bodies with no mercy resounds deep inside his heart, suddenly bringing back feelings and images he hasn’t revisited in a very long time. Memories of fire and loss, two things he is sadly acquainted with, tied up since the dawn of his life.

A shiver runs through his body, and Keith reprends himself for that, subtly shaking his head. He has come to terms with these memories, after all. And as a soldier who has seen his fair share of death, who even has unwillingly _brought_ it over others, nothing about this situation should hit him this hard, but... for some reason, it really does.

He wonders how much of this strange mood has to do with this tragedy marking the first notorious disruption of almost a decade of peaceful work with the Blades. Or if, maybe, it has more to do with the fact that he was very close to be one of those burning corpses, closer than he has been in years.

He exhales through his nose, still a bit shocked. To think a simple inspection could end this bad...

His job was to become familiar with the mine, and those that tended to its integrity. Inside it, and only accompanied by Kosmo, he was speaking to one of the younger workers to ask him about their chain of command and their particular needs, when a thunderous rumble came from the tunnel ahead. A cloud of greenish dust followed, so quick and dense that little pieces of stone left cuts on their exposed skin, and then, a burst of dirt, metal and stone was tunneling towards them like a hungry monster.

Keith could only manage to grab the man he was talking to and Kosmo, who quickly jumped twice to take them out of there. His loyal wolf had saved his life once again yet they stumbled outside the mine, just in time to watch it collapse. He later learned the tragedy had taken twenty one Galran workers and nearly three quarters of their already precarious sentry workforce.

There’s no way he could have done more, but Keith still feels the irrational sting of guilt at what happened; the scene repeating on his mind in a sickening loop for two days already.

At least the young man that was with him is safe and sound, standing a few steps away from them. When Keith notices his yellow eyes on him he smiles, making the man quickly turn his head back to the pyres, apparently flustered of being caught staring.

Well, that’s fine. The problem is, that’s not the only stare Keith feels.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can detect other glares around, people surreptitiously peering at him, hiding in the shadows of the dark square, menacing and cold. His suspicions are confirmed when Acxa leans closer to him, whispering near his right ear.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come. They are restless.”

Keith crosses his arms, glancing around. The natural hostility of the Galra is nothing new, but he has the feeling there’s something else going on here. Still, it’s not like they could have skipped the ceremony. Keith presses his lips, focusing his eyes on the flames again.

“Not coming would’ve been worse. We were there, and out of respect, this is where we should be. Besides... for them, our actions also represent the Confederation,” he states.

“We aren’t associated with the Confederation. We’ve said so thousands of times already,” retorts Acxa, frowning.

Keith shrugs grouchily, and his second in command shakes her head, sighing.

Being called to work with Galra communities was rare, given their proud and self-sufficient nature, all the more reason why they treated those missions as top priority. But the worst part of working with them was the need to always tread with care, politically wise. The extinct Galra Empire gave way to the young Galra Confederation, a big union of colonies, outposts and planets still under Galra dominion, barely kept together by a Council composed of thirteen leaders. Two of them were Kolivan and Krolia who, at the same time, were also the Galra representatives for the Galactic Coalition.

So, being the son and pupil of such prominent figures, an ex-paladin of Voltron and _almost_ the Pro Tem Emperor — the first year was wack—, Keith struggles to keep all of it away from his work. The Blade of Marmora has been an independent humanitarian association for eight years now, led by him and strictly separated from any political conflict within the Coalition, but it’s still met by some resistance from certain people. It’s not like he can blame them; the shadow of the fallen Galra Empire still lingers in all corners of the galaxy, and the Blades often find themselves in uncomfortable positions.

Too Galra for some people. Not enough Galra, for the Galra themselves.

That’s why, no matter how fulfilling their job is, sometimes Keith can’t help feeling like a ragdoll being pulled from all sides, caught in the middle of stupid power conflicts he considers useless, and he hates it. There’s a reason he refused to take any position that implied mastering diplomacy. There’s a limit to what he can do armed only with his war experience, his limited speaking skill, and his habit of clenching his teeth and thinking _‘okay, what would Allura do in my place?’_

This vague thought makes his heart skip a painful beat. _Of course_ his mind would land there as the last stop of this unwanted grieving trip.

Noticing how tired he suddenly feels and watching the cruel flames form mysterious figures, he swears he can see Allura’s graceful profile in them. He thinks of her and wonders, again and like always, how did she manage to shoulder… everything. From beginning to end, giving away all she had, just to achieve this fragile peace she didn’t get to enjoy, and now he struggles to keep, from his humble corner.

And just when his heart starts feeling too heavy, the smokey figures disappear from his sight while another image takes over, the same that always pops in his mind like a reflex whenever things go sour. Whenever he feels a sudden wave of loneliness hit him on random cold nights, lying in his temporary beds, less and less frequently for sure, but enough for him to remember.

Same blue eyes, crinkling in the corners as a wide grin flashes white teeth, accompanying a sing-song laugh that still provokes a tingle in his stomach...

A sudden tap on his left shoulder makes Keith flinch. Looking to the side he finds Ildan, another of his men, yanking his head forward to point at the dark figure walking through the crowd, opening a path effortlessly and standing in a makeshift circle they make for him in absolute silence.

“That’s the _glasnik_ ,” mumbles Ildan, and Keith watches the man with interest. _The messenger_. The closest the Galra have to a religious figure, given their poorly developed spirituality.

Covered in dark ragged clothes, like a humble version of the Archivist from the _Kral Zera_ , the _glasnik_ stops in front of the pyres, back turned to the people, and spreads his hands raising his raspy voice.  
  
“ _Katul, Sikkur Ta._ In death, no fear. No penance.”

He slowly turns to them, lowering his arms. He makes a dramatic pause, during which the sound of embers burning is the only thing that echoes around, before continuing his speech.

“We let the flames claim us before the ignominy of decay corrupts us. Those who lived their lives loyal to their blood and fighting for a place to call home deserve the same glorious farewell as those who had the honor to fall in battle. And in their parting we stay strong and proud, because we know for sure when the grip of death claimed them, they had nothing to regret. So is the Galra way…”

His yellow eyes, glistening in the dark, feel like daggers pointing right at Keith, who holds his breath as the _glasnik_ adds in a poisonous tone: “… at least the _true_ Galra way. _Vrepit Sa_!”

“ _Vrepit Sa_ !” mumble most of the multitude, taking their right hands to their chests. Keith and the Blades copy the motion in honor of the dead but omit the problematic salute, as they follow the _glasnik_ ’s movements attentively. The man walks around adding more combustible salts to each pyre, making the flames rise even taller and some people turn their eyes away. Keith can tell some are about to break down. Resisting the urge to cry in public with all their might, probably.

But now he is sure: something is wrong here. That veiled comment felt more like a direct attack, and Keith’s eyebrows stay pinched until he hears a soft chuckle by his side.

“ _So is the true Galra way_ !” repeats Ildan, in a low, mocking whisper. “Hm, I’m sure the _glasnik_ regrets something at least… He doesn’t look happy with letting a bunch of half-bred come and help his people rebuild the mine.”

“You think they blame us for what happened?” asks Keith, also in a low whisper. To his other side, he can feel Acxa shifting closer to hear them.

“I think they blame us for existing,” replies Ildan, amused. “But if you ask me, it seems _very_ _unfortunate_ that this happened while we are here.”

Keith knows what he is implying, but remains quiet.

“We ought to investigate the accident site, Keith. Even if they don’t allow us. Just to make sure,” suggests Acxa from his other side, barely moving her lips.

Keith sighs, looking at his own feet and the long shadow they project. Again, the ragdoll feeling. He knows something smells and that impulsive side of him that’s always on guard is really vouching for taking action, but...

“We aren’t spies anymore. If they catch us snooping around, not only will they turn on us, they’ll interpret it like the Confederation trying to meddle into their affairs. We aren’t here for this,” he hears himself say, scrunching his nose at his own words.

God, acting like a responsible leader _really_ sucks sometimes. At least he’s making Shiro proud, he hopes. After all, ‘patience yields focus’... Even if patience sometimes equals clenching his teeth and letting shady business just pass under his nose for the sake of peace.

Acxa and Ildan respect him enough to not protest, though he can sense in them the same uneasiness he is feeling, and he can’t blame them. But he’s sure this is the best course of action, at least from a serious point of view. The product of long years fighting against his reckless nature.

To think in other times he wouldn’t even doubt it. To think, in the past, he was considered a hothead.

A hothead...

_“What? Keith’s a hothead! He’s going to shoot first and ask questions later, and they’re not going to be able to answer his questions, because they’ll be DEAD!”_

A little smile tugs at his lips. Even from the past, Lance always manages to provoke him, stirring his inner flames and disrupting his pace without fail.

No shooting this time, though. He has learned, and questions come first.

“Well,” he mutters, a barely audible whisper. He waits until he feels both of his subordinates’ eyes on him to mumble: “Only _if_ … they catch us.”

Both Blades stare at him for a few seconds until Acxa pats his shoulder, turns around and leaves, silent and swift like a shadow. Ildan stays in the same place, but bumps his shoulder with his leader’s, keeping a poker face.

“That’s the spirit, Boss,” he mumbles, very satisfied.

Keith scoffs softly, one corner of his mouth menacing to turn up.

“Don’t call me that.”

“It just flows. Sometimes it’s deserved,” answers the agent, cocky.

Keith, out of respect for the mourners, tries to suppress his smile entirely.

“Only sometimes?” he asks.

“Yes. But I like you better when you’re just Keith, anyway.”

Keith blinks but stays in place, their shoulders barely touching. That’s just the way their long dead affair started. Ildan, half-Galra, half-Kerthoku, was someone easy to be with. Free, flirty, and coming from a culture that, aside from permanently resenting the Galra, never got tied to anything nor anyone, but would always actively seek what they wanted.

Just what Keith thought he needed when he decided it was time to move on and failed miserably. Maybe because soon he realized his flirty personality was too similar to the one he wanted to forget, or maybe just because, deep down, he never really _wanted_ to forget... In any case, and luckily for him, Ildan didn’t resent him for their fleeting attempt, though he didn’t stop taking any chance to poke at him either.

The ex-paladin remains silent at his subordinate’s comment, and Ildan rolls his shoulders, looking amused. His considerable height casts a long shadow that seems to extend infinitely behind them.

“You know, I may mock the Galra for their stuck up pride, but I think this is reasonable,” he says. Keith looks at him and sees Ildan’s dark irises fixed on the pyres, his yellow sclera reflecting the flames too. “Living with no regrets, in case the Dark Lady decides it’s a good day to come for your ass.”

The Blade turns, crooked smile showing the glimpse of a sharp fang. Keith knows that smile. It usually brings trouble for him.

“It was very close this time, Boss. Guess that makes one think...”

His smile looks devilish, eyes intense and _knowing_ , when he pops the question that opens a whole new can of worms for Keith.

“What do you say? Do you have any regrets?”

Keith holds that look for a few seconds, before the raucous echo of horns interrupts them. It’s time to turn back and leave the pyres to burn on their own until their consumption, as the tradition dictates, and Keith signals Ildan and the other Blades behind them to follow him back to the Base.

But something weird is happening in his brain. Each step makes the last question hammer his head in constant thuds.

_Do you have any regrets? Do you have any regrets? Do you…_

In retrospective, he has lived his life clinging to it for the most part. If he ever had any regrets, it was always about things he couldn’t really control but still would torture him, just like the accident at the mine. _Why did I let dad go out that day? Why did I let Shiro go on his mission?_

He was easily overwhelmed by those, until he learned to let go of the things he couldn’t change. His time with Krolia in the Quantum Abyss taught him that; together they had to learn again to forgive, be forgiven and just… let go.

And since then he has always strived to do his best, so no more regrets. _Allegedly_.

Because he can think of one thing, and he is pretty sure Ildan meant that. One that is not really out of his control, but also doesn’t depend on him entirely. Or maybe it does. After so many years, he still can’t really decide.

Keith goes to bed that night absolutely drained and mighty pissed at Ildan for opening the Pandora’s Box his head turns out to be, closed and quiet for so many years, now spreading its contents everywhere. He sleeps and dreams of purple fire, of loved ones running right through it, of a slim hand tugging him to follow them, a familiar laugh rattling on his ears.

It’s been years since he woke up sweaty and shaky from a nightmare. It’s also been years since Keith felt the need to hop out of his own bed and curl by Kosmo’s side to fall asleep, feeling the warmth of his ethereal mane, so welcoming and never judgmental of his ashamed master.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Keith is a mess.

Increasingly more tired and cranky, he works a lot and barely sleeps. The reports from his agents are vague and far apart, because the tight security around the mine hasn’t left them much room to investigate. Which, for a colony this small, in the border of the Confederation and supposed to be in need of their support, is quite suspicious on itself.

Also, once the news of the accident reached the Council he has been called by all thirteen members, some calling more than once to ask for explanations he doesn’t have. Krolia was particularly insistent on her questions, and Keith really wasn’t in the mood to deal with her. Or anyone else, actually.

But the worst part of his days are the nights. He is suffering from recurrent nightmares, something that hasn't happened to him since he was a teenager aboard the Castle. He dreams of his dad, and Shiro, and Krolia, and every member of team Voltron. He dreams of Allura, and of course, _of course,_ he dreams of Lance. The last time, Lance was following Allura into a cave full of fire, and Keith was nailed to the floor, helplessly watching them get lost inside. A stupid, simple dream that woke him up in the middle of the night anyway, shuddering and angry.

Keith’s empty eyes are over the list on his screen but he doesn’t see anything, absorbed in recalling that nightmare, mouth slaking just barely. He doesn’t even hear the acute voice behind him.

“—eith. Keith. Keiiiiith… I can’t believe this. Hey, _Boss_?!”

Keith jolts and turns around. Ezor is there, smirking at his dumbfounded face. He attempts to cover it by frowning.

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, as always. Ezor giggles and Zethrid, standing by her side, shows a cocky smile.

“Told ya he’d look at that,” she boasts. Keith rolls his eyes.

“What is it?”

“We need you back at the Base,” answers Ezor, hands behind her head. Keith straightens his back, tense.

“Why? Any news?”

“Nope.”

“The Council called again?”

“Uuuuh… no…” says Ezor in a strange tone. Zethrid slaps her lower back, earning a scornful look from her partner.

“Calm down. It’s nothing _bad_ , but we need you there ASAP,” says the bigger woman in a commanding tone, apparently amused by his paranoia.

Keith stares at them, raising one questioning eyebrow, but at Zethrid’s gesture he decides to follow them, walking fast and worried about what news could be waiting for him. He has started dreading these new reports, getting weirder but never clearer.

However, what awaits for him at the base is actually a surprise. As soon as he enters the small and messy meeting room he sees glasses of liquor resting over the round table, and around it, his entire team of fifteen Blades currently working with him at Mar-Sara, sitting in a tight circle. Acxa stands up, offering Keith the seat next to her, while Ezor and Zethrid go sit on the other side.

“What is this?” asks Keith, curious. He is the one who normally calls for meetings, so this is kind of unexpected. Acxa coughs before speaking.

“Well, Keith. This is an—” she pauses just so, before muttering: “— _intervention_.”

Keith hears Ezor’s distinctive giggle and he tilts his head to one side, half amused, half confused, noticing how the tips of Acxa’s ears are turning slightly darker.

“An intervention,” he repeats, in a neutral tone. It hides the sudden tickle in his stomach, produced by that word he heard so long ago. Lance’s voice echoes in his ears like its owner was right there, right now.

_“Well, Mullet, enough is enough. No more crazy ninja stunts. Intervention time…”_

His lips twitch and he can clearly guess where did Acxa learn this term. It must be just another McClain thing she had the disgrace to pick up, just like him. His right-hand woman crosses her arms, hiding her embarrassment with a stern expression.

“Yeah, an intervention. That means we talk to you as a group and try to help you,” she explains, like it was a real thing, which would make it funnier if Keith wasn’t that confused.

“Help me with what?” he asks, looking at everyone’s faces. Their expressions range from pity to amusement, but the one to speak first is, of course, Ezor.

“C’mon, Boss, you’ve been looking like shit lately,” she bluntly declares. The Blade sitting by her other side hits her with an elbow. “Ow, but it’s true!”

“Okay?” says Keith, irritated. Well, _excuse him_ for not looking pretty while they try to rebuild a mine around a dangerous cavern that just happened to collapse over his own head and kill a lot of people only a few days ago, while the Council pesters him every day and people look at him like he caused it himself...

Acxa smacks her lips, shaking her head.

“No, it’s not that. It’s not about how you look, but how you’re acting, Keith.” She looks at the table, not at him. “It’s not like you to be so down and distracted. In all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve always been more… well… focused.”

“And energetic,” adds another brother.

“Funnier, too,” contributes Ezor.

“Are you serious?” asks Keith, starting to get angry. Did they really expect him to be all jokes and giggles after what happened and the complicated situation they are in? He feels an insistent throb just behind his eyes. He rubs his lids with little delicacy, fuming.

“We are just worried. We think the events of this colony are taking a toll on you. After all, you were right there… we know it must be hard, Keith,” says Acxa in a soothing tone, and he feels his anger deflate.

Alright, he knows he isn’t doing well, but there’s little he can do about it. Looking around, however, his chest feels a bit lighter. He hadn’t noticed how heavy it felt before, but his people’s concern somehow makes it better. Sighing, he asks:

“But what do you expect me to do? It’s not like I can just leave until it gets better.”

Some of his subordinates smile, and he frowns.

“Actually, that’s exactly what we want you to do,” deadpans Acxa.

“Wha— Are you seriously trying to kick me out of this mission?” asks Keith, baffled.

“No, dummy! We want you to _rest_ ,” says Ezor, rolling her eyes.

“With all due respect, _Boss,_ " says Ildan, and Keith immediately squints at him. Half his nightmares are his fault, after all, albeit unknowingly. _Maybe._ “But when was the last time you took some time off?”

“I don’t know, when was the last time we had time for that?” retorts Keith, snarky, which only makes Ildan smile and Keith more pissed.

“That’s the thing, Keith. You let us all leave from time to time, but it’s been decaphoebs since you last rested. Maybe now it’s the right time,” proposes Acxa.

Keith feels stupid and ashamed for troubling his people for something that shouldn’t be so big. So he protests, even if, deep down, he knows they are right.

“But I rest. I visit Earth from time to time, and Daibazaal, and every year I also visit Altea for Allura’s Day…”

Acxa is unfazed by his attempt. She knows him too well.

“You always go on ‘official’ business,” she points out, air quoting. Another McClain signature move thinks Keith, irritated. “Even for Allura’s Day, you always stay one night, if you even stay.”

Keith growls.

“Okay, fine. Still doesn’t matter. There’s no point discussing this when there’s so much to do,” he grumbles.

“But it matters,” says Ildan. Keith looks at him again, and the absence of his usual sarcastic smile is just another indicator of how bad he must be looking. “If you aren’t in your optimal condition, it _does_ affect us. We can’t have another incident like the one at the mine.”

 _Of course_ he knows how to hit where it hurts most, damn it.

Being questioned this way is humiliating, but he can’t deny the truth any longer. He really hasn’t been doing well these past days, making mistakes and even unconsciously taking it out on his crew. Looking around at this group of people he cares about so much, he not only feels like a fool, but also suddenly realizes how much his body aches, from his neck to his back, to the constant weight in his chest. It’s been so long since he felt this way, it took a while to notice how stress is riddling him.

But even so, it’s not like he has many choices. He breathes sharply, trying to lower his previous pointed tone.

“We are in the middle of an investigation AND a project. Our suppliers call every day. The other six groups on other colonies call every day. The damn Council calls every day. It’s not like I can just… walk away and go on a vacation, guys.”

But then his brothers and sisters look suddenly uncomfortable on their seats.

“Yeeeeah. About that… funny you mention it…” mumbles Ezor.

“What,” deadpans Keith, frowning. Acxa glares at Ezor and then sighs by his side.

“It’s exactly that. We want you to take some time to rest, so… we took some liberties.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for once, we called _them_ ,” announces Ezor. Her smile curves to one side, mischievous. “The, uh... the _Council_ approves of you leaving. They said it was okay to send you home for a while.”

If there is any proof of how much his fellow Blades respect him, it’s the fact that they all put their best poker faces even though they have a reason to laugh their asses off. Keith feels his cheeks hot. Everyone knows that this time, ‘ _The Council’_ actually means ‘ _Krolia and/or Kolivan_ ’, therefore, he is being benched by no other than his own mother.

He tries his hardest to not hide his face between his hands. Instead, he scratches his neck while grumbling:

“For the thousandth time, guys, the Council has no telling in the Blade’s activities. Why the hell did you call them?”

“Sorry. We knew we would need some official support,” apologizes Acxa. She puts a hand over his shoulder. “They won’t be bothering us for a while, and you can leave the rest in our hands. You are free to go, Keith. Please, take the chance.”

They really went to such lengths to make him leave. It must be more serious than he thought. Ultimately, he trusts Acxa’s good sense more than his own sometimes so, can he really keep fighting?

He buffs one last time, before his shoulders relax and he admits defeat.

“For how long,” he grumbles.

“Whatever you need. A few quintants, maybe? Some days,” answers Acxa. Like every time she mentions human things, she clears her throat. “But you should be the one to judge that.”

“We just want you to feel better, Boss,” adds Ezor, resting her head on Zethrid’s shoulder, who nods in agreement.

“But I’m fine, I just—”

“No, you are not,” interrupt him the fifteen Blades, like a chorus.

If only he could get them to be this coordinated for carrying relief provisions, thinks Keith, picking up his glass and downing the liquid aggressively, like the sore loser he is.

 

* * *

 

He will never admit it, but they may have had a point.

Crossing the oppressive darkness of space aboard one of the Blade’s multipurpose ships — _“This baby will take you home and back safe and sound, souvenirs included!” said Ildan. “Bite me,” thought Keith_ _—_ _,_ and only accompanied by his loyal Kosmo, Keith feels immediately better. Flying has always been liberating, the first thing he was good at and the one that changed his life, but now, with some time to himself, he can really tell how much he missed the speed, the stars… the silence.

He has always been an introvert, after all. Even if he can deal with people now and enjoy their company, there are times when he crashes into his bed, dead tired, and it’s not because of physical exertion. It’s  _people_ , the hundreds of people he commands, deals with and has to answer to on a daily basis.

So, yeah, his trusted subordinates apparently were right about this whole time off deal, after all, and for that he’s grateful. He stretches on his seat, owner of his time and with the prospect of being away for a few blissful days finally becoming real enough to fill him with sudden enthusiasm.

Kosmo, too big to fit on the co-pilot seat and barely able to stand in the small cockpit, contents himself with putting his big head in the space between the two seats and yawn. Keith looks at him with soft eyes.

“Are you excited to go home, buddy?” he asks, petting his soft fur. For all answer, Kosmo closes his eyes and huffs, making Keith chuckle. But then, as he concentrates on his route again, his smile slowly fades, replaced by a nervous tap on the controls.

Home, huh.

Now that’s a difficult thing to define.

Keith still marvels at how he went from absolute loneliness to having such a huge circle of loved ones, literally scattered all over the Galaxy. It’s also amazing and a bit confusing being so well received wherever he goes.

He spends most of the time with his people from the Blade whom, free from the painful chains of the rebellion, now are a young and vibrant bunch and a pretty loud family. His trusted girls, Acxa, Zethrid and Ezor stay with him most of the time, and with them there’s never a dull moment.

Now and then he visits Daibazaal, where he tries to see his busy mother and Kolivan, whom always manage to spare some time from their busy schedules to spend it with him, even if it’s mostly to vent about the complicated and dirty Galra politics to which none of them was really born for.

Then he has team Voltron. His found family.

Every year they reunite at Altea, where Coran receives them, loud and cheerful like always, even if Keith catches him regarding Allura’s statue with hazy eyes from time to time. The old Altean found a place among his people, and that makes Allura’s absence more bearable. Keith thinks about her often too, still missing her and still relying on the many things the Princess left them with her strong and kind presence.

Of his human friends, the one he gets to see more often is Hunk, who is always hitting the road just like him. And by often, he means they meet three or four times a year. Hunk has helped him establish supplies chains for certain colonies and is still the shiniest human being he has ever met. His hugs are still the best too, certified.

The one who he speaks to the most, though, is Pidge. She is always perfecting Earth’s communications range and trying it with him, even if Keith suspects sometimes it may just be an excuse to call him. It’s not like she needs to come up with that; talking to Pidge is something that always cheers him up. Their favorite topic is, definitely, making fun of Shiro’s new married man life.

But even if he laughs at it, Keith’s never seen Shiro so happy and at peace. Admiral Shirogane may be the head of the Galaxy Garrison, but over everything, he is a family man now and that is so unfitting it’s funny but so good it never fails to make Keith smile. It’s the least he deserves. After everything Shiro has seen and survived through, after supporting all of them and him in particular, it’s good that he finally has a warm and private place to call home. _‘A place to hang your boots’_ , as people from his childhood used to say.

A place he doesn’t have, and therefore, deciding where to go when sent ‘home’ is a decision Keith never expected to be this hard. The downside to always being on the move and owning nothing. After all, what’s truly a ‘home’? A house you own? The place where you were born? Both disappeared, in his case. So, when thinking about it, only an old phrase always comes to mind.

_‘Home’s where the heart is’._

He scoffs. That’s a sentence he heard many times and always found incredibly cheesy, but... turns out it may be true because, right now, tired and hurt, his heart is telling him loud and clear where it wants to be.

Setting his course to the three Altean relays he needs to cross to reach Earth as his final destination, he can only think of how much he wishes to see Lance.

They meet every year at Altea, and every time Keith has some protocol visit on his birth planet, he tries to slip away enough time to meet him and the others, often at Shiro’s house. He has visited his house a couple of times too for business, and knows part of his family. But he has never stayed longer than one evening and that’s why he grips the levers with nervous hands, still shocked at his own impulsive decision.

In the most improvised and shameless plan ever, he is going to try and crash at Lance’s house by surprise, and just… hope for the best.

It’s all Ildan’s fault and his stupid question. _Do you have any regrets?_

That and the closeness of death woke up some feelings he kept in long hibernation inside his heart, feelings that don’t get in the way, but also never leave. Old feelings that stubbornly refuse to die and let him enjoy the intimate company of someone else in the vast universe, because whoever they are and whatever they do, they are not _Lance._

Hah. Suffering from unrequited love for a first crush at his age is not something he is proud of, but that’s just how things are. He has embraced it, after long years of confusion and inner battles.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried to move on. On every mutation of these feelings, from rage to sadness to resignation, he tried and always failed, so it’s been a few years already since he gave up and just lives with them. He lets these feelings console him when he needs and just stay there when he doesn’t, and every year at Allura’s day and whenever they get to meet he puts them to test and, every time, his heart beats fast and says ‘still here’ when he sees Lance smiling at him.

And therefore, at his worst, he still wants to see him, even if he expects nothing. Right now, too tired for anything, he’s only obeying his basic instincts telling him to crawl back to a warm place, next to a loved one. A place where his heart may not be at, but sure wishes to be. _Home_.

His communicator rattles.

“Pilot from the Galra ship AM-Der-Sek-Ki-Sek, please identify yourself and state your destination,” asks a voice, using Galran numbers to identify him. An Altean, probably, supervising the new wormhole network.

“Hi. This is Keith Kogane, Blade of Marmora, on route to relays E776, E876 and A099. Final destination... Earth,” answers Keith, and his own words make this too real, twisting his insides in renewed excitement and anxiety.

It’s settled, then. Time to see if he can find what he's searching for.

 

* * *

 

From the moment he sees the gorgeous blue of Earth, his heart doesn’t stop pounding in anticipation. He asks the Garrison to notify the McClains when he enters the orbit and so, as Keith is about to touchdown and he watches their colorful lands swaying with the wind his ship rises, his heart almost stops when he notices a lonely figure running through the fields right under the shadow he projects, coming to his encounter.

“We are here. Are you ready?” Keith asks Kosmo, but it’s actually more for himself.

It’s okay. If Lance says no, he can stay with Shiro and Curtis. If everything fails, the Garrison always has extra beds and Pidge is always there.

Landing softly in the McClain’s landing strip meant for cargo ships, he takes a deep breath before opening the hatch of his compact ship and jumping out. He is immediately welcomed by a voice getting closer.

“Keiiiith!”

There he is. Lance is running his way, waving, lightly dressed in one of his blue shirts, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled and flying in the wind. He looks healthy and handsome and Keith has to contain the impulse to spread his arms to catch him, and instead be content with extending a hand that Lance, once in front of him and after catching his breath, takes in a tight handshake before pulling him for a short hug that’s more like a light pat on his back, their usual greeting since a few years ago.

“Man! It’s so good to see you, what a surprise!”

“Yeah, sorry for coming out of nowhere,” mumbles Keith, smiling shyly.

“Haha, what’s with that? No prob, dude, it’s actually—” Lance stops scratching Kosmo under his jaw, taking a good look at Keith and tilting his head to the side with inquisitive eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh. I, um…” Right. Keith completely forgot he had been kicked out of his mission for looking like he was run over by a yalmor stampede. Lying will earn him nothing anyway, so he just says: “I don’t know.”

“What happened?” asks Lance, worried. Keith sees his blue eyes checking the new dark lines under his own, just like he can’t stop staring at the blue marks that still decor vividly Lance’s dark skin, now more tanned by the strong Earth sun. He looks too bright, or that’s what Keith feels, so he gazes at the fields of juniberries and, hit by their sweet scent, narrates some of the events of his latest mission, carefully omitting certain details, like him being about to get crushed by a bunch of rocks just a few days ago.

“And they told me to take a few days off, so… I decided to come and visit,” concludes Keith, and his voice is getting quieter with every word. He risks throwing a glance at Lance, who is looking at him astounded.

Damn it.

“So… Are you staying? Here?” he asks. Keith feels his cheeks hot.

“If it’s possible, I… I’d like to. I mean, if not then there’s no—”

An arm surrounds his shoulders and shakes him, pressing him to a warm body. Lance raises the opposite fist and his hearty laugh resounds in Keith’s ears.

“Hell yeah! Of course, man, what’s with that ‘if it’s possible’ nonsense? C’mon, my mom and Rach are gonna go crazy! I apologize in advance for their screams. Oh, and Silvio and Nadia? They are here for the last week of their summer break, they’ll be back to the Garrison in a couple of days and MAN, their minds are gonna be BLOWN! Haha, I can’t wait to see their faces when one of their heroes walks through the kitchen door...”

Lance doesn’t let him go for half their walk through the fields, waving at the workers they pass by, who throw scandalized looks at Kosmo. He only stops talking to laugh at their faces before resuming yapping about anything and everything, from the amount of food he should expect to be fed, to the room he’s gonna lend him, to the last time Hunk was home and how since then no one could even eat a normal biscuit, too bland compared to the wonders Hunk works. Keith just nods and smiles, surprised at how easy, how comforting it feels to enjoy the familiarity of Lance’s strong hold, the rebellious butterflies in his stomach silently doing their thing while he just marvels at this moment.

He lets Lance ramble uninterrupted because his voice is still caught in his throat, so relieved and touched by the easy welcome he is giving him, without a hint of doubt or discomfort. He can’t believe he will truly spend with him the next few days, away from calls and responsibilities. He can’t believe how much he  _needed_ this.

“So, as long as Kosmo doesn’t go for any of the cows and especially NOT Kaltenecker, we’ll be fine,” finishes Lance, huffing after his long ramble.

“Kaltenecker is still around?” asks Keith, hoping to not sound as endeared as he feels.

“Cows can live up to twenty years, Keith! She’s a respectable old lady, but your question offends us,” answers Lance, turning his nose up in disdain, making Keith laugh. Lance’s eyes regard him with a sweet expression, smiling softly. When Keith realizes, he clears his throat.

“So, is your whole family living here?” he asks.

“Oh. Not everyone, but they visit often. Mom and dad are here, of course, and Luis and Lisa live just around that hill, so it’s like living together, honestly, the kids come all the time. But Marco is an architect, so he moves around a lot, and Verónica is at the Garrison most of the time, of course, but! My sister Rachel? She became a mom not long ago and is staying here. She travels a lot with her boyfriend, but he’ll be in charge of their business for a few weeks while she stays here with Mía. Her baby,” explains Lance, while the main house appears behind a slope. It’s a modern two-story construction, right in the middle of the fields, with no fences around and standing tall, close to a glowing storehouse. In the distance, some stables, silos and greenhouses can be spotted too, all very modern constructions surrounded by solar panels and water recycling technology.

Everything looks just like the last time Keith visited, and that makes him feel happy and reassured, in a way. However, he can’t help feeling a bit of frustration too. Hearing how Lance’s family moves around so much, it’s still strange that he, so naturally restless, would stay in the same place for so long. That’s something that hasn’t changed in too many years and somehow… it feels wrong.

But at least another thing hasn’t changed, he thinks, subtly eying Lance’s hands.

_No ring yet._

It’s embarrassing, but since Shiro got engaged, each year at Allura’s day and every time they get to meet, he nervously looks at Lance’s left hand, fearing the day he’ll spot a ring on it. And, to his relief, this time there’s nothing there again.

And every time, looking at Lance’s handsome features that in his personal opinion only seem to get better with the passing of the years, like good wine, Keith is grateful but can’t help but wonder _why_. Why not yet...

“I took the call from the Garrison, but I just ran out and I didn’t tell them, so…” Lance explains, before winking and taking a sharp breath. “Ma! You won’t believe who’s gonna be our guest!” he yells as he opens one of the multiple doors of the big house, and signals Keith to enter.

Keith orders Kosmo to stay outside and away from the animals, and follows Lance. As soon as he crosses the door, he hears two distinct high pitched squeals that make him flinch and look around the colorful kitchen. They come from Lance’s mom and another woman, both sitting in a corner of the table, the second one with a baby in her arms. There’s another person there, a tall teenager frozen in the middle of reaching for something in a cupboard.

“It’s Keith!” says the woman, that he recognizes as Lance’s twin, Rachel.

“No way! Paladin Keith?!” exclaims the boy, jaw slacking in surprise. It takes Keith a while to distinguish him as Lance’s nephew, Silvio. The last time he saw him he was still a small kid, but after eight years or so, he has become a lanky teenager, strongly resembling his youngest uncle.

Steps coming from other parts of the house can be heard and in the arch that opens to what looks like a lounge, three people crash trying to enter the kitchen: Lance’s dad, another teenager he recognizes as Nadia, and a short kid he doesn’t know, whose head pops from a side of the frame and then disappears again.

And Keith finds himself forced to take a seat, surrounded by people who look at him like they are meeting some kind of celebrity, asking questions and offering him all kinds of treats and beverages he just accepts, a bit confused. Lance stands behind him and he rests his hands on his shoulders, snickering at the way his mom and Rachel look at his fellow ex-paladin with shiny eyes. Malicious, he mumbles near his ear.

“Told you. Including Vero, all the ladies from this household seem to have a thing for half-Galra...” he mutters in an amused tone, giving Keith’s shoulders a friendly pat before going to fetch something from the fridge, grinning.

Feeling a shiver run down his back, Keith wishes very intently he had just a bit of Acxa’s luck. Or rather, that not only the _ladies_ from the McClain family had that very particular taste.

 

* * *

 

Keith wakes up startled from another nightmare and, disoriented, it takes him a while to remember where he is. It’s still dark, but slowly coming to his senses he remembers he is in the guests room on the first floor of Lance’s house. Through the glass door slightly open that connects right with what could be considered the backyard, a morning breeze enters and fills the room with a sweet aroma and a nice chill.

He gets out of the bed to look outside and thinks, again, that he couldn’t have chosen a better time and place to visit. The end of summer approaches and the fields look like a breathtaking postal. Juniberries grow everywhere, covering with pink spots the soft grass and the slopes that get lost in the distance, permanently spreading their scent. Sounds of trees swaying in the breeze, cicadas singing uninterrupted and noises from the animals of the farm compose a soothing symphony that echoes around, low and constant. There’s a light fog slowly lifting as the first rays of sun cross it, and the air feels crisp and nice on Keith’s bare skin. He takes a deep breath.

It’s just his first night and it’s already been an experience. He spent most of the day before with the McClain family, who were delighted to have him there, and Lance took him later on a long tour around their lands, which are big enough to have left them tired and hungry. Once back, Keith was fed like he was recovering from some sickness and bombarded with questions, particularly from Lance’s nieces, who stared at him in awe, like he was some kind of mythical animal.

Lance watched all this with teasing eyes. He didn’t participate in the questions that much, except to meddle on his answers to make them sound “cooler”. He also took the chance to confirm some of the stories he had told the kids and, apparently, they never believed.

_“Was Zarkon really 8 feet tall?” “Did tío Lance really defeat Sendak? Is it true you fought an Arusian?”_

Keith had a lot of fun watching everyone’s reactions to his answers, trying to falsely discredit Lance, to then make the story even cooler —“ _Oh well, there was an explosion that left him out cold for hours.” “See?!_ ” _“But then he woke up and shot Sendak right in the arm.” “Ohhh…” “Then I had to carry him to a healing pod in my arms.” “OOOHH!”_ —, but since in the family they are all early risers, they were sent to bed soon after.

He was escorted by Lance to the guests room which is the best one of the house or so announced the host, and Keith could see why. Though small, it’s fresh and comfortable. The glass door replaces a normal window and right outside there’s a wooden platform slightly elevated over the irregular ground, that makes for a nice terrace to sit and watch the gorgeous view.

But still, the best part of it all was having Lance leaning on the door frame, arms crossed and a smug smile.

“For the record, it’s true you tried to fight an Arusian,” he said, grinning.

“It’s also true that I carried you to a healing pod in my arms,” retorted Keith, sarcastic. _‘And that I think that’s the day I fell for you’_ , he also thought, but didn’t say it.

Lance’s grin became narrowed eyes for a moment, and then he snorted.

“Goodnight, Keith,” he said, stepping out of the room.

“Goodnight, Lance.” Keith smiled. “And thanks for everything.”

“Don’t mention it! Like, really don’t, or I’ll get pissed!” Lance said, pointing an accusing finger at him while walking backwards down the corridor before turning around and heading for the stairs. Keith stood there feeling his chest full of wholesome emotions and unsure of what to do next, looking around his new temporary quarters.

Too agitated to sleep, Keith stayed up with Kosmo, sitting on the terrace and enjoying the night view until the moon was really up in the sky, so he decided to try and sleep. After such a good but tiresome day, maybe he could finally have a decent rest without grim thoughts and dreams.

He actually fell asleep faster, but the nightmares of purple flames didn’t go away. In fact, the fire smelled now like juniberries, which wasn’t really an improvement.

Still standing in front of his door, he is just thinking about it when a shadow crosses his field of vision and startles him. Lance has come out of the house through the front door and is crossing in the direction of the storehouse, now halting his steps, startled too. But distinguishing Keith’s silhouette, he changes his course and gets closer, while Keith opens the door completely without thinking too much.

Lance smiles from the distance, but then stops for a second, his eyes quickly sweeping up and down Keith’s figure, before he fixes his smile in place and keeps walking. It takes Keith all the remaining seconds until Lance arrives to understand he is actually half-naked because he slept only on his underwear.

“Hey man… good morning,” says Lance, looking sleepy and… flustered? “Uh, didn’t think you’d wake up so early.”

“Morning,” mumbles Keith, crossing his arms absolutely self-conscious and cursing himself on the inside. “I’m like this lately. Can’t sleep too many hours.”

“I see,” says Lance, looking around the room and, in fact, anywhere but at Keith. “Well… you should just take it easy, go back to bed… you know, just lazy around for a while. You earned it!”

“Maybe,” answers Keith. But already up and with Lance right there, he doesn’t really feel like going back to bed and do nothing. Trying not to fidget, he adds: “Or I could go and help you. I can lend a hand.”

Lance snorts.

“If they know our guest is doing farm work I’m not hearing the end of it.”

“But the guest wants to,” insists Keith. Lance smiles.

“Never one to stay put, huh,” he says, finally looking at him again. His eyes look droopy and Keith feels a wave of something warm, remembering how bad Lance has always been at waking up early, though he always did anyway. In the dim light of dawn, Keith takes a moment to appreciate that sleepy face and compare it to the one that usually pops in his memory. It has some different details like sharper angles on his jaw and cheeks, longer hair, and a darker stubble. He is not the lanky boy he used to be either, now sporting a broader back and fuller legs. None of these changes do anything to lessen his quick heartbeat, though. In fact, they just make it worse.

“Okay, I’ll uh, I’ll give you a moment to put some clothes on? Unless you wanna feed the cattle like this. I don’t really know how the Galra do their things now…”

“Shut up,” says Keith, but he smiles as Lance lifts his hands and lets himself be pushed outside, laughing.

“I’ll wait for you outside the storehouse, I wanna show you something!” he announces, making finger guns and walking away.

Why does his heart still go crazy over that dumb gesture? Keith goes to the bathroom and then dresses quickly, thinking about it all giddy. He also thinks about that stare Lance gave to his body and would like to imagine he was checking him out, but now that he looks at his bare legs and arms, he was probably just surprised at the battle scars he acquired through the years. He doesn’t know when was the last time they saw each other’s bodies, after all, but feels like more than a decade ago.  

… Probably _was_ more than a decade ago. Where the hell does time go?

Excited to begin a new day of blissful farm life, he meets Lance outside the storehouse, and inside he is shown ‘The Experiment’™ as they call it: a liquor they are developing, made from juniberries.

“So when one of the cows went on a rampage and ate a bunch of juniberries a while ago, she was acting like a drunk for like, three days. It happens with apples too, so Pa thought, why not try to make some cider out of it? And so…” he dramatically opens his arms, showing the casks all around the dark storehouse. “Ta-da. Juniberry Whatever. I don’t have any idea what it is, but at least it smells really good. Pa said we’ll inaugurate it for a special occasion but I’m pretty sure he already tried it… more than once,” he confides, and Keith smiles.

In fact, smiling becomes his default mode, as they walk around and he learns about Lance’s routine, listening to him talk, watching him greet, tease and give orders to the nice workers he also greets and who shake his hand like he is some sort of legend.

Lance also smiles at all this, and then openly laughs at him for still rejecting milking the cows — _“c’mon, Keith, Survival 101! How did you even survive the Quantum Abyss?”_ —, but Keith can forgive him for teasing him over it if that means he can keep looking at that beautiful grin made of white teeth and malicious curves, still childish, and always breathtaking.

It’s refreshing. It also explains a bit of Lance’s change; here, doing chores he enjoys and humming to the permanent upbeat music that comes from the worker’s radios everywhere, he looks at ease. It’s still strange to see someone like him, probably meant for big, flashy things, living this simple life, but at least Keith now _gets_ it, because even he feels sweep by it, surrounded by nice people, beautiful scenery and, over everything, the warmest family.

Maybe he did make a mistake coming here, after all… He can already tell that going back to the cold intrigues of Mar-Sara after this will be true torture.

The sun sets before he knows it and he is just thinking about it while walking through the fields with Lance, throwing a reluctant look at his own ship that can be seen close by, when he notices three figures around it. He squints, trying to distinguish them, and Lance looks that way too.

“The kids,” he says. “Guess they are curious about your ship. We don’t see Galra ships very often.”

“Yeah,” answers Keith, and both men start walking to the runway. After a pause, Keith adds, “I don’t think people are very fond of Galra around here, right?”

He wonders if humans would be like the reluctant colonies they help, looking with cold eyes at the purple skin of some of his people. After all, the wound the Galra left on their planet is not one that will be healed during their lifespan. Lance looks at him and then at the rocky road they are following.

“Nope, not the favorite guests,” he admits. But he is smiling as he puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder and shakes him. “Unless it’s paladin Keith and company! The Blades are really popular. Guess the ladies still dig mysterious rebels with terrible hair helping out people in need, lucky you!”

“Only the ladies?” Keith hears himself ask and, fortunately, he can’t even blush at his own words and the confused look Lance throws at him for a second before a voice makes them look ahead.

“Tío Laaaaance!”

The small kid — Andrés, Keith, remembers from the night before—, bolts their way and throws his arms up, running at all the speed his short legs allow him. Lance crouches and spreads his arms to catch him with an “oof!” and then lifts him from the ground in one motion. The boy is the youngest son of Lance’s oldest brother, five years old, but he is small for his age and apparently very shy, because until this moment Keith hadn’t heard a word from him.

Even now, just noticing Lance is accompanied, the boy hides his face on his uncle’s shoulder, making him laugh. That cute image causes Keith to smile.

“Hey, Andrés,” he greets.

“C’mon, say hi,” Lance tries to convince him, but the boy turns his head the opposite direction for all answer. Lance sighs. “Sometimes I wonder if he just doesn’t know his own name because everyone calls him differently… We call him Andrés, Andrew, Andy, Dee Dee…”

“Booger,” mumbles the kid, loud enough for even Keith to hear him. Lance looks at him surprised and then makes an apologetical face.

“Okay pal, don’t tell your mom that one ‘cause she’ll know that’s me.”

“What an uncle,” says Keith, snorting at the offended face Lance makes.

“Just wait until he warms up to you, you’ll also want to call him Booger. He’s a little devil in disguise…” The kid’s shoulders are shaking, and Lance points at him with his free hand. “See?! He’s laughing!”

Keith laughs too, feeling his heart full of something warm. It’s so like Lance being the favorite uncle, honestly.

“He loves you a lot, though,” he points out, and he can spot a tiny brown eye emerging from the side of Lance’s neck and looking at him.

“I don’t think so,” cries Lance, faking a sad voice. “If he loved me, he’d give me a real hug… Ugh!”

The kid squeezes him and Lance struggles to walk, laughing and asking him to loosen the grip in vain. Keith enjoys the scene until they reach Andy’s older siblings, both looking a bit guilty in front of the ship.

“Hi, Uncle. Hi, Mr. Keith,” says Nadia, making Keith suddenly feel twenty years older.

“Just Keith,” he answers, and the girl blushes a bit. He feels bad for it, so he quickly adds, “so, uhm, are you guys checking out the ship?”

“Ah, yeah,” replies the girl, shy.

“You two are at the Garrison, right?” asks Keith, watching out of the corner of his eye how Lance is now struggling with Andrés in some sort of improvised wrestling match to peel the kid off his face.

“Yeah!” Nadia brims with joy at it, eyes shiny. “We want to be pilots like you two! I’m still in the common plan, but Silvio— Uh, well…”

Silvio turns his head in a scowl and Nadia fidgets. The boy sighs, irritated.

“I’m a cargo pilot. Was just assigned, the semester starts in two days,” he grumbles, as if to take it out of the way. Keith watches the way he hunches a bit, all lanky and grumpy and edgy, and a wave of sympathy hits him. Silvio reminds him of himself, frustrated and eager to prove he could be the best at something, even with no one in his corner. Being young is tough when no one provides you with the chance to prove your worth, after all. He knows that very well.

Unable to hide a small smile, he tilts his head to one side.

“Congrats, Silvio. I’m sure you’ll be great.”

The kid openly scoffs at it and Nadia slaps his arm. Keith grins wider.

“I’m serious. As long as you don’t get yourself expelled, you’ll be fine.”

“You were expelled and still saved the universe,” retorts the boy, and his hand makes an unconscious attempt to go to his mouth, maybe aware that he is being disrespectful, but then he clenches it in a fist and lets it hang on his side. Keith looks at Lance, who coincidentally turns his back to him in his fight to peel off his nephew from his face.

“Yeah, I was. But if I could go back I would try to stay, you know. The Garrison could’ve taught me more,” he says, walking to his ship. He runs a hand through its metallic plates. “Besides, things are so different now, with how far we can reach. If you love flying, the Garrison is definitely the right place.”

“But not for carrying stuff!” cries out Silvio, finally letting out his frustration, “I wanted to be a fighter, and explore the universe! Like you… like uncle Lance! Even if he doesn’t fly anymore...”

Lance stays still, and Keith doesn’t miss the way his shoulders twitch at that comment. His nephew stares at him with a sad expression and then turns to the ship with longing eyes.

“I want to fight for Earth in a ship like this…”

“Well,” says Keith, patting the metal. “This is actually a cargo ship.”

The kid blinks, confused, and looks at the Galra machine again, frowning.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s what we call a blend. A ship made to travel fast with light cargo. It can also defend itself... Sometimes you need the provisions quick, so this one comes to save the day,” says Keith, feeling like a car dealer, but he always blabbers a lot when it comes to ships.

“But… But _you_ fly this?” asks Silvio, still dumbfounded, and Keith smiles.

“Yeah. They are the best for long journeys.”

Silvio blinks in confusion and Keith decides to push further.

“Hey. Don’t look down on yourself. Even during war times, cargo ships and their pilots are the most important.”

This snaps Silvio out of his astonishment, and he rolls his eyes.

“Pff, yeah. Carrying stuff is more important than fighting enemies?” asks the boy, all sarcasm.

“Yeah. Because soldiers need to eat to fight enemies,” simply answers Keith, shrugging. The boy presses his lips and then pouts. It’s impossible not feeling bad for him, so he tries again.

“Think about it. In these times of peace, you don’t see many combat ships around. But cargo ships? Everyday. They come and go, and have to fly to every known place.” The boy looks at Keith now, and he smiles at him. “They are the _real_ explorers. Fighters always stay close to their planets and outposts to defend them, while cargo ships get to travel everywhere. The Blade of Marmora works with them all the time so, who knows… maybe we’ll work together one day?”

This picks notoriously Silvio’s attention. He perks at Keith’s words and then looks in awe at the ship. Keith catches the soft smile in Lance’s face and that may be the reason he gets cockier. Looking at the eager way the boy admires his ship, he puts a hand on the metal plates of it, and pats it again.

“Do you wanna try this one?”

“I— Can I?” asks the boy, all shiny eyes.

“No, no, no, no, no, wait,” interrupts Lance, finally putting down Andrés. “No unauthorized flights for minors in these lands.”

“Not flying, just checking it,” says Keith, amused at how naggy Lance sounds. Then he climbs the high steps of it in two swift movements that leave the McClains surprised. “C’mon, take a look. You too, Nadia.”

The teenagers seem to buzz with excitement as they climb the ship with some effort and sit in the two seats. Keith stands behind them, hatch open allowing him to stand while he explains how cargo ships have more panels than your average fighter because some are needed to stabilize the weight and impulse the ship in shorter time, which requires a good set of skills. From down there Lance and Andy, whose head pops from the side while he sits on his uncle’s shoulders, listen to them, and Keith throws insistent looks their way while answering the avid questions the teens make.

When they get down from it the sun has already settled and it’s getting very dark. Still, Keith is sure he catches Lance’s eyes on the ship with a melancholic expression, before he turns them to his nephews.

“Alright, kiddos, go back and shower before dinner or your grandma is gonna nag me like always.” He smirks at Keith. “And say ‘thank you, _uncle Keith_ , for the cool lesson.’”

“No, just—” tries to say Keith, but Nadia interrupts him.

“Thank you so much, uncle Keith! It was great!”

Keith feels his cheeks hot, maybe because he has never been called ‘uncle’ before, but it sounds good. Better than Boss, definitely.

Or maybe because it sounds like a good complement to ‘uncle Lance’.

“Thank you,” says Silvio, and Keith finally sees him smile. Keith smiles back and nods, relieved and secretly proud of having helped at least a bit to reassure this boy in what the future holds for him. He also can’t help thinking how Shiro always made it look so easy, and it’s definitely not.

Silvio picks his little brother in his arms, and Andrés also mumbles a sleepy “thank you”, that makes all the rest laugh.

“That’s my boy,” says Lance, eyes full of fondness. “Take him to bed, he's finally out of battery, thank God…”

The kids leave and Lance takes a moment before he turns to Keith, showing a smile that makes the Blade’s stomach jump. It also looks fond and sweet.

“That was... very impressive,” he says, and it sounds amazed.

“Uh, thanks,” he answers, embarrassed. Lance’s soft expression shifts and his eyebrows arch in a mischievous way.

“No, really. Thank _you_ , uncle Keith. That was super educational,” he says in a teasing tone.

“It’s nothing,” answers Keith, struggling to not stutter and glancing away.

Lance steps closer.

“I’m surprised, to be honest. To think you are this good with kids. It’s… yeah, surprising,” he confesses. Keith feels his face hot again.

“They aren’t hard to deal with. It really was nothing.”

Lance laughs shortly.

“Believe me, getting Silvio to smile lately is like, a record. Luis may try to give you a medal…”

Keith chuckles but, deep down, he feels like what he did is nothing that Lance couldn’t have done before if he wanted to. In fact, if anyone can give a lesson on how little the Garrison divisions matter, it’s him. He thinks of Silvio’s words and his disappointed face when he said Lance doesn’t fly anymore, and he turns his head to his fellow ex-paladin again.

“You can try too, if you want,” he offers. When Lance looks at him confused, he adds, “Flying the ship, I mean.”

Lance’s smile wavers, but then he holds it in its place.

“Nah, I’m good. But thank you, uncle Keith! You are so kind.”

“I’m serious, Lance,” responds Keith. Lance’s smile disappears, and now he avoids his eyes.

“I am too,” he declares.

An uncomfortable pause lasts for a few seconds while Keith feels the wind on his face and the smell of juniberries, and wonders again _why_ , before Lance smiles awkwardly and clears his throat.

“Well, let’s head back. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”

Keith nods and follows him, afraid of having stepped on a landmine, of touching a subject he isn’t meant to poke. They walk in silence until they reach the house, but during dinner  the awkward atmosphere dissipates and when Lance wishes him goodnight, he does so with an honest smile that makes his heart beat fast.

And Keith knows he should be glad and not repeat the same mistake by trying to dig deeper but, inside, he can’t stop thinking about it. _Why isn’t Lance flying anymore?_  

 

* * *

 

A week goes by in a bliss of hot weather, early mornings, good food and cheerful music, and Keith feels his body getting accustomed to this in ways that start being a bit alarming. Reminding himself that he doesn’t _live_ here is a constant mental exercise that he would love to drop, but for the sake of his own heart, he can’t. He will go back to his own reality soon, so he makes a great effort to treat this just like what it is: a temporary respite.

Still, the McClains make it extra difficult with their accommodating ways and their contagious laughter. Nadia and Silvio go back to the Garrison and their parents come to the house the night before to throw them a goodbye party, which ends becoming a loud and hilarious competition to convince Lance’s dad to give up and allow them to uncork the juniberries liquor, but he doesn’t budge at all.

The kids say goodbye to Keith with so much fondness he makes a mental note to visit them again on their next break. Even Andy starts warming up to him, especially after Keith allows him to touch Kosmo, who looks more like a horse next to the little boy, but the wolf lets the kid touch his soft fur without a hint of discomfort and they develop a quiet and surprising friendship. The boy, who stays at his grandparents’ house every other day, starts doing strange but very cute things, like leaving presents for Kosmo that Keith finds outside his glass door, including bones, toys and, the last time, the empty carcass of a snail. Keith, for some reason, decides to save it in the pocket of his jacket with a smile.

He talks about Earth matters with Lance’s parents. He gets to know Rachel a bit better, and she is glad to give him embarrassing info about her twin whenever they have the chance. He even participates — reluctantly—  in the _‘can you make Mía fall asleep before falling asleep yourself?’_ contest, hosted every single night, because the little baby turns out to be a natural night owl and beats every tired member of the family at it. Keith is disqualified immediately, though. Not because he can’t hold her the right way as he feared, all awkward with such a small creature in his arms, but because the girl develops an automatic obsession with his long hair and his mom, not even joking, wonders out loud if it just runs in the blood, given the _family_ _records_. Keith dares to peer at Lance out of the corner of his eye, but the man just fakes he didn’t listen and after taking way too long in Keith’s opinion, he finally stands up to take her niece from his arms with a cocky grin, saving him from going bald.

Even Kosmo is having the time of his life running through the fields and scaring the poor workers that have come multiple times to warn him they found his wolf sleeping next to Kaltenecker, but Lance always reassures them about his good intentions. The last time it happens, though, he suddenly smirks at Keith.

“I know you’re a doting parent but you’ll have to control your son, Keith, if you want me to give him my daughter’s hoof in marriage. Sneaking into her stable every day in front of everyone is a _scandal_!”

Keith bursts into laughter for an entire minute at this and when he wipes his tears he finds Lance gaping at him, a bit red on the face, and quickly looking away with a weird timid smile. Keith would love to take these gestures as signs of _something_ , but he carefully discards any naïve hope that could ruin the current state of things.

Because, of course, the best part of everything is sharing his time with Lance himself. The ex-paladin has dedicated a lot of time to accompany him, making sure he is feeling better —which he is—, and they have talked about a lot of things, though they seem to have a silent agreement to not touch any sensitive topics. He catches him from time to time with an absent look too, staring at the juniberry fields, a look that burns a hole in Keith’s heart every single time, even though Lance always snaps out of it with a smile. Keith has so many questions, but after what happened with the ship, he has decided to not meddle any further. He is not here to push and interrogate Lance, after all.

Instead, he concentrates on enjoying and treasuring these small moments and smiles, and rejoicing in some very welcome extras, like the way their hands would casually brush at the table sometimes, the sensation of their shoulders bumping while they walk around the lands, and the way Lance clings to him when he laughs at something he has said, his sing-song laughter one of the things that haven’t changed in all these years, just like the ticklish sensation it provokes in Keith’s gut without fail.

That is enough and he is okay with it, until that morning he wakes up a little later, not interrupted by any nightmare again for the second night in a row. He enters the kitchen and finds only Lance’s mom there.

“Good morning, Keith! Sit down!” she greets him, and he answers politely, doing as said. He has already learned to obey and just let her put a lot of food in front of him without protest.

They exchange a few comments about the weather and the food, until she suddenly stops working on what she’s doing and, filling a mug with coffee, sits across him at the table. Her nervous aura makes Keith lift his eyes her way, curious.

“So, Keith. Excuse me if I’m being nosy, but… are you feeling better?” she asks. At his surprised face, she adds, “I’m sorry, but Lance said you came to take a rest for a while and I just hope we aren’t bothering you. I know we can be noisy, so...”

“No, not at all,” hurries to say Keith, ashamed. “I’m fine, thank you. It’s been great. In fact, I’m… I’m incredibly grateful. Really.”

The woman smiles tenderly.

“Oh, dear, please don’t be, it’s been wonderful for us to have you here too,” she declares. She looks into her mug and sighs. “To be honest, the ones who should be grateful are us. Your visit has been a blessing.”

“I— Uh,” Keith is definitely blushing and the lady makes an apologetical face.

“I’m sorry for bringing this up. It’s just... Lance worries us. I know you know him enough to understand why,” she says. And Keith does, so after a short pause he nods, and her mouth crooks in a sad grimace as she fiddles with her coffee.

“Honestly, we don’t know how to help him. Sometimes… it feels like my son is frozen in time. Like he can’t move forward. And he is still so young! He ought to do other things. Things that suit him,” she says, and Keith can feel in her voice how long she has been thinking about this. Sighing again, she adds:

“Did you know Shiro has come to visit him many times to offer him a place at the Garrison?”

“No,” answers Keith, genuinely surprised. The lady nods enthusiastically.

“Shiro is a sweetheart. He is very concerned, and he has spoken to us about it. But Lance won’t budge. And that’s… so unlike him. _Ay, Dios._ We honestly don’t know what to do to help him anymore.”

“I didn’t know…” mumbles Keith, thinking he should discuss the matter with Shiro too.

“Hunk also tried to convince him to take Shiro’s offer when he visited us. And I know Pidge has tried too. But until now, he was in this... I don’t even know how to call it. He just wouldn’t listen to anyone, and that worries me sick. Because with the years it seems to get worse instead of better. He wasn’t like this at the beginning, and he was fresh out the war... I don’t know where we turned wrong, Keith.”

Keith presses his lips, feeling guilty. To think everyone has been making an effort to help Lance, while he didn’t even know… He is supposed to worry about the people he loves. 

He just always thought Lance was _fine_.

After their last battle as team Voltron and with the loss of Allura, for a while, everyone was on guard regarding him. But Lance kept his spirits high, and he seemed to heal very quick, looking satisfied with his life. Even if his decisions were a bit strange, he looked well. And Keith always thought it was just the way Lance is, the same reason he was always so fascinated by him. Because he always managed to be fine, even in the oppressive eternity of space, even while he was alone and homesick, keeping a cool head, helping others... unlike him, who would get lost in every step of the way, always needing some orientation.

So, indeed, where did they turn wrong? It says a lot that he is the only one who hasn’t done anything to help Lance. And he is supposed to have _feelings_ for him.

That’s a lousy way to show love, he realizes, feeling a void in his stomach.

But then, Lance’s mom smiles and snaps him out of that trance like she is reading his mind.

“Well… That’s why I say you coming here has been a blessing, dear.”

He looks at her, confused, and she chuckles.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, but since you came, Lance has been so different. He always talks a lot about you, but this is the first time I can see you two together, and now I think I understand. He is having fun, and I can’t thank you enough for it.”

Keith blushes.

“I— I haven’t really done anything. He’s the one who's been helping me all this time,” he stutters, feeling worthless.

But the woman smiles and extends a soft hand to pat his, resting on the table.

“But that’s good! That means you just bring out the best from each other and that’s like… _magia_ ,” she declares, making a dramatic arc motion with her hand. Her hearty laugh reminds Keith of Lance’s, just like the way her eyes crinkle in the corners with charming lines. He feels a torrent of warm water dripping down his chest at her words. She doesn’t stop smiling while she speaks.

“I know this is selfish, but… Please, would you come to visit us again, if you can? We’ll always be glad to have you. You can come back whenever you feel like it, no appointment needed.”

Keith opens and closes his mouth but no sound comes out, and Lance’s mom seems to simply get it. She winks, taking her mug and standing up to wash it.

“The invitation is open. You are a delight to have here. I can’t believe Lance would complain so much about you when you were kids, I bet half of the things he said were just his imagination. I swear, my son is a real character…”

Keith listens to her and his chest flutters with a mix of feelings he doesn’t know very well how to process. A house where the door is always open, a warm group of people willing to receive him, a stranger among them, and the power Lance’s mother attributes him to make her son happy sound like a tale too good to be true. Even more so when he hasn’t done anything to deserve any of it in his opinion. He stares at his food, confused and a bit lost.

After a while, he feels a hand touching his shoulder. The woman has surrounded the table and smiles at him.

“That got cold, let me heat it up for you.”

But her hand lingers on his shoulder in a soft and encouraging grab for a moment, before she takes his plate and turns away with her eternal smile.

And that’s when Keith decides that he must do something to be worthy of her trust, and this warm place that she is offering him. And also, to be worthy of his own feelings, stored in his heart for so long that they’ve become useless. That must be fixed.

 

* * *

 

The chance comes two days later. Keith is with Lance that morning at the stables, where Lance milks Kaltenecker by hand, “like it should be”, in his opinion. Amused at Keith’s disgusted face, he teases him like every time this happens.

“You know, you being such a savage for some things, I never imagined you’d be afraid of milking an innocent and beautiful cow.”

“I’m not afraid, I just don’t like it,” Keith retorts.

“That sounds like something someone who’s scared of it would say, but go off,” says Lance with a snarky tone.

Keith starts feeling the classic boil in his blood at these childish provocations, but then he sees it. An opportunity.

Trying to sound casual, he fakes picking his nails as he says:

“I’m not scared. If I had to do it on a bet or something, I’d do it.”

“Oh? What’s this, Captain Mullet? Is that a gauntlet you’re throwing my way?” asks Lance, raising his head with interest. Keith’s mouth crooks to one side. _Bait laid._

“Don’t know. Why are you so interested in making me milk a cow, anyway?” he asks back. Lance hums.

“Hm. I guess it’s just weird to find something you can’t do. You know, Keith Kogane being bad at something? That’s a rare sight.”

“I’m bad at many things,” argues Keith, feeling himself blush. It distracts him from his goal for a moment, especially when Lance keeps teasing him.

“Well, we know you are bad at cutting your hair, that’s one, I’ll give you that. It’s getting out of control, man.”

 _‘Seriously, what’s the deal with my hair?’_ Keith would love to ask. Instead, he sticks to his plan.

“Alright then. I can milk a cow but I don’t _want_ to. So… if you can do something you can but don’t want to, I’ll think about it.”

Lance stands up, slaps his hands to shake the hay and dirt off them and supports his weight on Kaltenecker, cocking a hip with a mischievous smile.

“Well, well! That’s new! Consider me interested. What would that be?”

 _Time to reel it in_ , thinks Keith. Knowing this is actually a bet with himself and it can probably turn sour, he thinks of Lance’s mom grateful face before saying:

“I dare you to fly my ship.”

The change is immediate. Lance’s shoulders drop and he stands straight now, the smile melting from his face.

“Keith…”

“I know you can, you just don’t want to. Like me and the cows,” he says, knowing the comparison is absurd and that his true intentions are crystal clear now. Lance looks at him with a mix of irritation and something else, that could be doubt. Is he considering it? He remembers the way his eyes admired the ship that day with the kids and their nostalgic expression.

Maybe he just needs a push, but the idea that occurs to him is risky. If something really deep is happening to Lance, he wouldn’t take kindly being asked this but, on the other hand…

On the other hand, this used to be a certain way to ignite his enthusiasm. And if Lance is still the same Lance he fell for, if anything from his younger self is left of him, it would work.

And suddenly, Keith really wishes to test it, so he crosses his arms, smirking.

“What is it, Sharpshooter?” he says, with a very uncharacteristic sneer. “Are you _scared_?”

Lance looks at him dumbfounded, and during three tortuous seconds Keith’s insides freeze, waiting for the explosion that will ruin everything and get himself kicked out of paradise. But then, Lance shakes his head and stares at him with a strange crooked smile.

“Oh, man, now you’re ON.”

Keith feels his entire body relax at it and start brimming with childish excitement as he follows a very quiet Lance outside, in the direction of the landing strip.

“Why are you so set on having me fly your ship, anyway? Are you planning to prank me?” suddenly asks Lance after a while, clearly trying to sound casual, but it comes out a bit tense.

“No,” is all Keith answers, because he can’t say anything else without exposing himself. How does he explain he just wants to see a glimpse of the old Lance that messed his head with his stunts and cocky words? How to explain he just misses the connection they had when they piloted the Lions, the thrill of being one for a while with the team, and especially with him? How to say, without offending him, that everyone wants their old Lance McClain back...?

Lance glances at him and then he looks down, which tells Keith that maybe he suspects a tiny part of it. Both men walk in silence until they reach the ship, stopping to stare at it shining under the morning sun. Then Keith turns his head to his companion, who takes a deep breath.

“Alright, then. Hope you’re ready to  _squeeze_ Kaltenecker today, ‘cause you’re going down,” he declares, his fake cockiness almost convincing. Almost.

Doing a disgusted noise, Keith opens the hatch and invites Lance to ride the ship. He even gets a privileged view of his ass when he struggles to copy Keith’s way of climbing the tall metal plates, so the deal is actually in his favor for now.

Dropping too heavily on the pilot’s seat, Lance peers around the multiple panels and sighs. Keith sits on the co-pilot seat.

“You understand I haven’t piloted anything in a few years, right? I know I’m an ace, but the rust is real…” he says, dragging his words.

“I know,” answers Keith, smiling at him. Lance huffs through his nose.

“Quick summary of the controls?” he asks.

Keith obliges, stretching a bit to point at the panels that come to life under his touch, his face very close to Lance, who at some point stops paying attention to the instructions and instead his eyes follow his features, barely a few inches away. Keith stops talking, holding that look and swallowing.

“What?”

Lance snorts and shakes his head.

“Nothing. Just thinking you are very patient to explain things now, who would’ve thought.” He grins. “You’d be a good teacher.”

“I don’t think so…” Keith tries to argue, but Lance picks the levers and closes the hatch.

“You better be ready to excuse this unauthorized flight with all of your influence if it turns bad. Also, you may want to reconsider sitting here with me, just in case…”

“You have the same influence as me,” retorts Keith, and Lance laughs at it.

“Okay, Almost-Galra-Emperor, whatever you say. You lost your chance to run away.”

“I wasn’t going to,” answers Keith.

He trusts Lance even when he notices the slight shake of his hands, because the moment the engines roar around them, he looks at his eyes under the white and purple lights of the ship and can feel a shiver running down his body. There’s a sudden shadow, or rather a flame he can distinguish in them. And deep down, he knows it.

These tremors are for  _excitement_ , not fear.

And they take flight, a bit rough while Lance gets used to the mass and speed of the ship, but quickly stabilizing. It’s impossible not remembering the day they met, or at least the day Keith remembers as their first encounter, leaving Earth aboard Blue for the adventure that changed their lives, with Lance piloting like a madman but so sure of himself, his love and passion for it contagious. He didn’t trust him at all back then, and it amuses him to realize how his younger self didn’t know what he had coming, how much he would trust and love that flamboyant boy someday.

Life is whimsical and mysterious and Keith has already resigned to it, so now, he gladly sits as Lance’s co-pilot. In silence, he keeps an eye on the panels and the radars but doesn’t meddle at all, letting Lance do his thing, convinced that he can handle it, until a sudden choked sound makes him peer at his pilot’s face, who is looking ahead with wide-open eyes. Another of these sounds comes out, and before Keith can ask what’s wrong, he is startled by a sudden burst of laughter that seems to come out like a waterfall from the depths of Lance’s chest.

He laughs, and laughs, and turns the ship in the air, leaving them hanging upside down. Keith feels tempted to laugh too, filled by overwhelming happiness and relief.

Yes. That’s more like it…

“Look, you have a message!” announces Lance, pointing at the comms panel and laughing again.

“I’ll check it later,” Keith answers, smiling at the loud sounds Lance is making. The ex-paladin turns the ship up again, wipes a tear from his eye and flashes a cocky grin at Keith.

“What is it?” he asks when he catches the Blade staring. “Are _you_ scared?”

 _‘Are you scared?’,_ an echo from that first day that resounds inside him like it happened just yesterday, though it was more than a decade ago.

“With you at the helm?” Keith’s mouth crooks to one side. His heart beats in loud thumps, filled with emotions, memories, and certainties. In a soft voice, he mumbles:

“ Never.”

Lance leaves out a breathy sound and then laughs again, this time less scandalous and more composed. The smile doesn’t leave his mouth even when they land, clean and nice, and he throws his head back on the seat, exhaling. The hatch opens and Keith takes off his belt, looking to the side and finding Lance’s eyes on him.

“What?” he asks, and then rolling his eyes: “Oh, right. The cow. Fine...”  

“Thanks,” says Lance instead, and Keith’s breath hitches. It sounds soft and sincere, so intimate he just doesn’t know how to handle it. The tension in the air creates a strange atmosphere that feels so inviting, like it was the perfect moment to say everything he wants to say, but... He blinks and looks to the side, where all the panels are turned off except for one. Lance follows the path of his eyes, and then clears his throat.

“Right. I’ll… I’ll let you answer your message. Meanwhile, I’m going to the stable to get ready for the show,” he says, taking off his belt too, and standing up a bit shaky. He descends from the ship and makes a military salute from the ground, quickly turning away and walking back to the house.

Keith lies back on the seat, sighing. That was so close… The view of Lance flying had awakened in him all these restless impulses, poorly concealed inside his Pandora’s Box. Lance’s laugh still seems to echo around the cockpit and he indulges in it for a moment, before his finger finally presses the button, and Acxa’s voice sounds loud and clear around him.

“Keith, I’m sorry to interrupt and I hope you’re doing fine. But we found important information regarding the incident, and we require your presence here soon. We’ll give you more details when you arrive, it’s not safe to discuss it through this network. Again, I’m sorry. Please let us know when you’ll be back.”

The short message ends, and just like that, Keith’s dreamlike days are over.

Like a ghost, he walks the road back to the stables, feeling his insides pressed in an uncomfortable knot. Looking around the peaceful fields, automatically answering the friendly waves the workers do at him from the distance, he feels it get tighter. He knew this moment was coming, and in fact, he checked every day for a message like this one, but still… it feels _too soon._  Certainly, his nightmares are receding and his body feels healthier, which was the goal of his short time off, but.. leaving just when the spark he craved so much was back in Lance’s eyes…?

“So, which one of our beautiful ladies will have the honor to be milked by paladin Keith Kogane himself?” asks Lance when he sees him approach at the stable’s entrance, all smug smile and pose, impossibly beautiful under the light of the sun. But his grim face must say something because Lance uncrosses his arms and walks to his encounter.

“What is it?” and then, understanding, he adds, “Bad news?”

“I don’t know yet. They’ll tell me when I get back,” answers Keith, feeling his throat tight.

A pause. He really doesn’t want to look at Lance’s eyes and his marks. It’ll make it even harder to announce his departure.

“So… you’re leaving?” Lance asks. Keith is not quite sure, but that voice sounds upset.

“Yeah. They need me back,” he reluctantly confesses, but the sole idea makes his whole body hurt. He lowers his eyes, thinking that he didn’t expect to be this attached to this place, this family, and to his time with Lance, so short but so good.

Or maybe he did, and that’s why he was reluctant to come, in the first place.

“Hey.”

Lance’s voice is soft. When Keith raises his eyes, he sees the former paladin is smiling.

“Can you at least leave tomorrow morning? You know… You can’t deny us the chance to throw you a farewell party,” he says, dropping a hand over his shoulder. Keith opens his mouth to say he shouldn’t, maybe to explain he is in a hurry to go back to a place where bad news await for him, but the weight of that hand and the soft expression on Lance’s face, so close he can see his marks glistening under the afternoon light, break all and any resistance.

“Okay,” he says instead, and Lance shakes him a bit with a wider grin now. Keith wishes he could grab that hand and not let go, but he’d probably do better if he at least _tried_ to cut his renewed attachment.

 

* * *

 

He never thought the McClains could overfeed him more than they have already, but they manage to do so anyway. The reduced number of members at the table doesn’t equal less noise, and so, the warm farewell party Lance promised ends with loud laughs and anecdotes that only make it even harder for Keith to say goodbye. He’ll miss them, definitely.

Since he intends to leave before dawn they decide to say goodbye at once. Keith lets Mía pull his hair one last time before Rachel hugs him and takes her away to try and make her sleep, and Lance’s parents also shake his hand, hug him, wish him a good and safe journey, reminding him that their house is always open for him. The lady’s hug is accompanied by a soft _‘thanks’_ that he knows it’s a mutual understanding between them.

Keith thought he was old enough already to stop being floored whenever people show him any kindness, but the McClains simply disarm him. He has to take a moment outside after this, with Kosmo sitting by his side and looking at him with curious eyes. Everything seems to be even more beautiful than usual tonight. God, how much he wishes he could stay...

Even more so when a clinking sound calls his attention and Lance appears by his side, holding a bottle of what seems to be their original juniberry liquor and two glasses.

“I know you have to leave early, buuuut—” he says, smiling mischievously. He shakes the bottle a bit, the rosy liquid moving inside, tempting. “It seemed like a waste not inaugurating these for this special occasion, don’t you think?”

Keith lifts a brow, with a side grin.

“Your dad will be pissed,” he says.

“Oh well, he’ll live. Besides, he said it was reserved for important moments himself,” retorts Lance, all mischief as they start walking to surround the house and sit next to each other on the border of the wooden platform in front of Keith’s glass door. He dismisses Kosmo to also give him a good last night of freedom, and they laugh for a while, watching him run around the tall grass like a glowing mythical animal under the moonlight.

Truly, Keith couldn’t ask for a better image to take back with him. The moon shines with no clouds on sight, all stars in clear display, away from any intrusive lights in the undisturbed tranquility of these lands. The night is warm and the softest breeze sways the juniberries, spreading their sweet aroma like vapor rising from the ground, while the already familiar song of the cicadas complements this summer scenery, which is now tinted in an undefined melancholy, the one that comes from all good things that must be left behind.

Still, Keith inhales deeply, thankful for this quiet moment, taking in the entire picture and saving it within his most cherished memories, because now that all lights are out and the world is quiet around them, it’s just him and Lance and the illusion that they are the only ones in the world, at least for a while.

He turns his head and finds blue eyes fixed on him already, the shadow of a smile tugging at thin lips and a hand loosely holding a glass, halfway between them. Keith entertains the faintest absurd idea that he caught Lance  _staring_ , but quickly discards it, taking the glass the man hurries to offer him.

“Well, then…” Lance clears his throat and raises the glass. Are his ears pink...? “Let’s toast this fine night.”

“To what?” asks Keith, grinning. He can’t stop smiling, honestly, even if his chest hurts when he thinks that, by this time tomorrow, he’ll be far away from this warm place and into the fray again.

Lance considers it for a moment, arm still up and head tilted to the side, pressing those gorgeous lips Keith can’t help but stare at.

God, he  _really_ doesn’t want to go yet...

“Let’s toast to… uh, our good health,” proposes Lance, finally. Keith snorts.

“Are we really that old?”

“Hey! First: no, dude, at least not me? I’m not even thirty! And second, health doesn’t have anything to do with age anyway,” retorts Lance, his ears definitely pink now and his tone offended. It just makes Keith grin wider.

“Okay, then. To our good health and a decent retirement check,” he says in a flat voice. Lance frowns.

“Very funny, Keith. But I’ll have the last laugh when you catch space measles, so when it happens please be sure to notify me.”

Keith just laughs and Lance can’t hide the way the corners of his mouth are also crooking up. But then he nervously turns the glass on his hands, before adding in a more serious tone:

“Let’s hope that this can happen again. You know… you visiting for a while. It’s been fun having you here.”

At this, Keith can feel his own face heating now. Knowing his cheeks may be tinting in a similar tone to the liquid in his glass, he forces himself to say something nice but not _revealing_.

“Thank you for having me. I also had a lot of fun. It was like…”

_Like healing. Like being free and young again._

_Like having a home to come back to._

All things he can’t say, so Keith struggles with his words. Lance tilts his head, amused.

“Like the old times?” he completes. Keith smiles. He is in a very particular mood right now, and there’s no reason to not be sincere. In a fond tone, he says:

“Even better.”

If his eyes don’t betray him, Lance is also turning a certain shade of pink and, flustered, he nods and raises his glass again, this time dramatically.

“To more vacations like this one, then! And to a long, prosperous, stress-free life, with no space measles!” he extends the glass towards his friend. “Cheers!”

Keith nods and clinks their glasses.

“Cheers,” he says, and then downs in three gulps the innocent looking liquor, fooled by its deceiving sweet smell.

Which proves to be a mistake, or at least feels like one. The pale substance tastes as sweet as it smells for a great total of three seconds before it burns his throat all the way down. He tries to cover his coughing, but Lance is already huffing by his side and shaking his head like a horse.

“Oof, man! This has a LOT of character! And by that, I mean it fucking _burns_!”

“No kidding,” rasps Keith, trying to laugh between his attempts to clear his throat and a few tears.

“I’d blame the _aguardiente_ , but you know what? I think it’s actually the flowers’ fault. They are _mean_ , growing so far away from home and all,” comments Lance, still blinking rapidly and looking at the fields spotted of pink.

And as Keith lowers his glass he thinks he’s probably right, but also… a dark feeling creeps from his chest. He stares at the flowers too and can’t help feeling a sting of resentment at their oblivious pink beauty, casually swaying under the nocturnal breeze, causing that look on Lance’s face to come back. The one he has whenever he gazes into the distance and thinks of things Keith can’t touch, can’t erase, and can’t fix.

His fist curls, but he remains quiet. Again, and like always. He looks at the moon and thinks about all the times he has had to shut up while burning inside, having to quietly watch Lance lose the confident light of his eyes, desperate to seek it, to keep it for himself, and always resisting the urge only to step aside.

Just like twelve years ago, like eight years ago, like right now... and probably forever.

 

 **_「_ ** **_Do you have any regrets?_ ** **_」_ **

 

Two blinks, blood pumping faster, a sudden need to raise his voice.

“Do you remember when Coran made us try the numvil? My tongue fell asleep for at least one hour,” Keith suddenly blurts, noticing his hand is clutching the glass dangerously tight. He loosens the grip while feeling a wave of heat rise from his belly, all the way to his head.

The liquor? Or just his repressed feelings?

Lance snaps out of his reflections, turning to him surprised, and then smirks.

“Oh yeah! That thing. I thought it burned a hole in my stomach. If you think about it, it had enough strength to blow the Castle… I don’t even know how we survived,” he confesses, and both men laugh.

“Coran always had the weirdest ideas. Remember when he had us dress up like space pirates?” asks Keith, accepting the refill Lance is offering him — because the aftertaste isn’t bad at all, and his nerves need some serious assistance.

“Yeah! Well, can’t complain, we got Kaltenecker out of it,” replies Lance and, pointing at Keith with his glass, he adds, “At least he didn’t try to dress you as Altean royalty out of kitchen wares.”

Keith opens his mouth, and closes it again. He remembers that day all too well. Lance doesn’t look particularly affected by it, he just watches the fields again, this time with an amused grin. In his profile, Keith can distinguish the same lines burned in his memory from that distant sunset when they sat over Black and enjoyed together the last view of the desert before leaving for the battle that would change their lives, blissfully ignorant of what was to come. The last time Keith felt Lance close, honest, and real, before the events of his life changed him forever.

“I miss those times,” Keith mumbles, because it’s true. No matter how happy and satisfied he is with his current life, there’s always something missing, a permanent, uncomfortable sensation, like he left something behind and should go back for it, not knowing exactly _what_ that is.

Maybe because it has always been a _who._

Lance doesn’t look at him, sighing and lowering his eyes.

“Yeah, me too. I mean, I don’t miss the war. What I miss is thinking we could solve everything, and being with you guys at the Castle. With _all_ of you,” he says, in a low voice. Keith follows the slow sway of his lashes, feeling dizzy. He really wants to get Lance out of that particular line of thought, but... maybe it’s a chance to dig deeper into his true feelings.

“I miss Allura,” Keith declares, expecting a big reaction, to trigger something hidden. But instead, Lance looks at him, blinks twice, and smiles.

“I know, pal. Don’t we all?”

They keep quietly staring at each other, and Keith understands that’s all he’s gonna get from that. Feeling a pressure in his chest, he takes another sip and keeps talking.

“I miss the guys too. I miss having Shiro bossing us all around,” he says, making Lance chuckle into his glass.

“Haha, yeah. Who wouldn’t miss that?” He wipes his lower lip with a thumb and Keith feels his eyes glued to it. “He really changed our lives, huh. Though I don’t know if I’d miss _us_ if I were him... Now that I’ve had to live with Nadia and Silvio, I don’t even know how the poor man dealt with a bunch of teenagers piloting alien ships for so long. Keeping us from blowing up ourselves and stuff.”

Keith remembers when he met Shiro, the brother life gifted him when he needed it the most, and feels his lips curve.

“Don’t think he didn’t enjoy every second of it. He’s always been an adrenaline junkie just like the rest of us,” states Keith, shrugging.

“All of us, except poor Hunk. God, I miss my Hunky,” whines Lance, taking another sip from his glass, and his eyes are looking a bit lidded now. “You don’t find a bro like him every day.”

“Yeah. I miss him a lot too. We chat whenever we can, though. He’s helped a lot with some of our projects,” comments Keith, feeling warm and content. The Hunk effect.

However, Lance’s expression shifts, his playful smile slowly leaving his lips.

“I bet he did. That’s Hunk for you, always fixing everything. I’m so proud of him,” he claims, but downs the rest of his glass in a somewhat aggressive way. Keith stares at him, while Lance wipes his jaw, and adds: “Same with Pidge. Our Number Five is now all grown up and scary. I can’t call the head scientist of the Garrison a gremlin anymore, she could toss me into a wormhole in a blink.”

Keith laughs at that but stops when he sees that Lance is looking serious and abstracted again as he speaks.

“You are all amazing. I miss having you around, but I’m so proud of the things you’ve achieved. I couldn’t ask for cooler friends,” he says, raising his eyes to the sky. To the stars.

The dead look is back and so is the unbearable pressure in Keith’s chest. His breath hitches and, be it the melancholy of the night, this conversation, the liquor or just a mix of all, he suddenly feels like he’s about to burst, full of unsaid words and truths, full of questions.

Full of regrets he came to get rid of without knowing how, because that would mean risking more than he’s willing to lose. But right here, right now, the price seems suddenly fair. So what if he finally speaks his mind? What if he just lets his feelings flow out of control, bare and overwhelming?

His mouth moves faster than his brain.

“I miss you too,” declares Keith, and Lance turns his head slowly towards him. His eyes widen when Keith adds, “I miss you the most, in fact.”

Lance tries to smile but the corners of his mouth just twitch, and he blushes profusely.

“What? I-I mean, uh—”

“You were always defying me. We were always competing,” says Keith, putting his glass down with a thud of the wood. Lance looks at it and then back at Keith’s face.

“I was a little shit, wasn’t I?” he mutters.

“I liked it,” retorts Keith, and now Lance’s expression changes completely. “The way you would always challenge me, and everyone. I wished I could have that drive.”

“Hah… And my talent to call people names?” replies Lance, trying to joke, visibly nervous.

“And your talent to keep people on track. You were my right-hand man when I didn’t know shit about leadership, Lance,” argues Keith, not breaking eye contact. “You were the one who kept the team together when everything failed. When _I_ failed.”

Lance opens and closes his mouth, and he seems unable to keep looking at Keith’s eyes. He lowers his head, hiding his face.

“Thanks, Keith. But that was long ago, and you became a great leader. Look at you, shouldering all those responsibilities like it’s nothing. Really, dude, you’re great.”

At this, Keith feels the sting of anger. He flats his palm on the wood, barely a few inches from Lance’s hand, leaning towards him and noticing how the other man is now glancing at their fingers about to touch.

“It’s not easy, Lance,” Keith whispers. “I struggle every day. That’s why I miss you so much. You made it easier... You made it _fun_. You always made me want to be better.”

Lance doesn’t move. He just lets out a choked laugh that sounds utterly fake.

“Well... thanks, dude. I appreciate it.”

“You don’t get it,” insists Keith, and now he suspects he may be _slightly_ drunk, because his mouth seems to be commanding itself. “What I’m saying is that you could be doing anything you wanted. You loved to fly, you always competed with me, and you were _damn_ good at it. Why aren’t you flying? Why aren’t _you_ leading?”

Silence. Keith knows he is pushing it too far, and fully expects Lance to storm out any second now, ruining his last night with him, but he can’t stop the words that seem to flow out directly from the bottom of his stomach in a desperate chain.

“Lance, why are you doing this? Why would you — You could do something great. You _wanted_ to do something great. And I’m not saying this isn’t but — You know what I’m saying, I know you know...”

But Lance’s stubborn silence just fans the flames. Taking a deep breath, Keith decides he doesn’t care about subtlety anymore.

“Do you really think this is what Allura would have wanted for you?”

There. He said it. He is ready to watch Lance stand up and leave, maybe smack him on the way. His heart beats painfully fast in the agony of waiting for the answers he needs and dreads and probably won’t have, but then, Lance slowly lifts his head.

His eyes are dark, his cheeks a bit rosy due to the alcohol, lips pressed and hair mussed. He stares into his eyes with an expression Keith can’t decipher. Is it cold anger? Or plain sadness?

But then the pinch of his eyebrows relaxes when he sighs, eyes still fixed on Keith, running through his face to finally pierce his violet irises.

“I know you all think I’m living here because I’m some sort of weeping widower,” says Lance, and his voice sounds harsh but collected. Keith feels the sudden impulse to avoid his gaze, but he just can’t, drawn by the hypnotic pull of those blue eyes.

“But that’s not it. In fact, sometimes I… I find myself forgetting things. About her. Isn’t it weird? When you were supposed to love someone so much, but still after a while you start forgetting their voice, and their expressions, and how they felt. I wonder if it happens to everyone, or I’m just that lousy as a partner.”

A breathless laugh leaves Lance’s lips. A humorless sound.

“So, yeah, that’s not it. I’m here because I _want_ to be. I’m here because the people I love are here. And sure, they aren’t the only ones I love, but they are the ones I can help and protect. The rest of you? You can take care of yourselves and that’s _good._ ”

“But—”

“I know you think I’m wasting my time,” interrupts Lance. “And you know what, maybe I am. I know I could do other things, but I just… I don’t feel capable of doing it again. Of thinking I can do, or solve things I actually can’t.”

He swallows, and his waterline looks suddenly brighter.

“I’m done getting cocky and having the universe teach me the hard way how useless I am.”

These words resound deep inside Keith and bring him back to the night of the purple flames. That sensation of impotence at the unfair turns of fate is something he understands very well, but he never suspected it could be the real reason why Lance decided to just dissapear and give up.

He knows it’s not the same for both of them, just like their personal stories differ, but still, there it is. The overlap again. The way they always, always understand each other in such unfathomable ways it’s almost sickening. A bond that goes nowhere but also never disappears, and Keith is tired of it.

Tired of loving and understanding Lance so well, and not communicating to him any of it.

Their fingers are touching now, making Lance flinch subtly at the contact. Keith’s voice comes out low and deep.

“I’m sorry. I really understand what you’re saying. But also, no one can control what happens around us. We were taught that lesson long ago and still kept doing our best to fight it. _You_ kept doing your best.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind his own ear absentmindedly, trying to find the right words, with Lance peering at his every move with droopy eyes.

“What I mean is, if there’s something you can do, you should do it. Even if you fail, even if it ends up not being what you expect, at least it’s _something_ … Lance, you did so much for me and the team. Why give up on that?”

Lance’s breathing is agitated, and Keith is so close he can feel it on his face. It’s driving him crazy.

“I… I don’t know, man. It’s been so long that I just don’t know what I’d be good for now. I’m… I’m just—”

“Then come with me.”

He blurts it out, just like that. His deepest desire. Keith opens his mouth, surprised at his own words, but then he decides to stand for them, because they make so much sense. If Lance agreed to come with him, would he even need time off ever again?

The sudden prospect of having him close while doing the job he loves is too bright to fully comprehend it at once. However, Lance looks just baffled.

“What— No,” he deadpans.

“Why not?” presses Keith, scooting even closer, totally unaware of his movements. Still, Lance doesn’t back away.

“You… how would I even be of help to you? You have your people, and the Coalition all over you, how could I—”

“We always need hands. You’d be perfect for it if you wanted to.”

“But what would I do there? Without you, I’d be alone. A-and I couldn’t just, follow you around. You are the leader,” stutters Lance, getting flustered. But what he probably didn’t expect was for Keith to suddenly put his hand on his cheek, making him look right at his face again.

In all honesty, Keith didn’t expect it either, barely believing he is grazing Lance’s skin with his palm and fingertips. He has to fight the urge to caress the blue mark under his right eye with his thumb.

“You could be with me if you wanted to. Remember— Remember what I said to you that day, at dusk? Here?” Keith’s speech is a bit slurred, but he ignores it. He has important things to say. “I said you’ve always had my back. I said it from the bottom of my heart. You always were my stability. And I—”

He gulps, looking at Lance’s face, his wide-open eyes, the new faint lines under them, his semi-parted lips. The glow of his marks under the moonlight, marks he resented at first, but now he cherishes like indelible parts to Lance’s story, to his whole being. Beautiful, just like everything about him.

“I just miss you so much every day.”

He can feel the heat of Lance’s blushing skin and he realizes, too late, that nothing about this can be passed as platonic. No matter how buddy-buddy or brotherly they try to be, there’s no way Keith can ever explain why he is saying this while his right hand is intertwined with Lance’s fingers on the floor and his left one is over his cheek, their faces so close they can feel the ticklish sensation of each other’s breath, sweetened by the juniberry liquor.

Shit, there’s no way he can get away with this, and his fingers twitch, while the faintest glimpse of sanity tries to pull through the fog of his brain, to find a way to fix it, fix this mess before it’s too late.

But then... it happens.

It’s subtle, the most subtle change, but to him, so fixated on this man he has loved for so long, it’s like a gunshot marking the beginning of a race: Lance’s eyes stop jumping between both of his, to slowly drop to his lips, with a quiver of his own. It’s almost imperceptible, the prickle of his skin, but Keith feels it under his fingers and just… loses it. Any ability to think, any reluctance and doubt, he tosses them all out of this space he is sharing with Lance in the split second it takes him to cut their short distance and kiss him.

If he misread the signs, if he is making the biggest mistake of his life, none of these ideas matter as Keith marvels at the sensation of Lance’s lips between his, drinking from them like a thirsty man in the desert. In a way, that’s what he has been all these years, from his confused eighteen years old self, wondering why he fantasized with catching Lance in a dark corner of the Castle after carrying him in his arms that one time, to his twenty-one-year-old self that came back from the Quantum Abyss convinced he had everything under control, only to discover the pain in his chest was far from gone. Always stepping aside, even pushing Lance into other arms... And now here he is, eight years later, finally tasting a bit of all he’s ever wanted, confirming it’s not even close to how he imagined it.

And damn, he imagined it.

It’s not soft, nor elegant. He just doesn’t have the patience to start slow, hungry and desperate as he is. His lips brush Lance’s roughly, vaguely aware of their unexpected softness and their frozen tension, until he notices, pleased, the awkward but encouraging way on which he’s starting to follow his erratic rhythm. Keith coaxes Lance to open his mouth by taking his lower lip between his and grazing it softly with his teeth.

“Kei—,” breathes Lance, but Keith doesn’t give him a break, catching his words by deepening the kiss, exploring that mouth blindly, paying attention only to the electric sensation of his tongue, the intoxicating heat of Lance’s breath over his skin and the low rumbling sounds coming from his chest that reach him, stirring a fire inside him, all over him.

And in all the chaos Keith realizes, like hearing a distorted radio signal, that he is afraid to stop. If he stops, the spell will be broken, and bad things will happen. Questions will be asked. Feelings will be bared. Excuses may be made.

Instead of halting, his shaky hand leaves Lance’s fingers to go to his face too, cupping it, tracing the edge of his cheekbones with rough thumbs and tilting his partner’s head just so, instinctively trying to angle them better, extending the kiss a little while longer, as much as possible. Wishing, more than anything, to never have to let go of this moment.

But no matter how much he wants it to last forever, it can’t. Lance needs a pause and drags his lips away from Keith’s to finally back off a few inches, enough to open his eyes and look at him, breathing shallowly. His face is bright red, and his bloodshot eyes look tired, maybe due to the liquor, but, surprisingly, there’s something else simmering in them too. A dark heat, a new look that sends electricity down Keith’s gut, right to the pool under his navel.

“Lance, I—” he tries to say, breathless, and luckily, the fact he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say because he has no explanation whatsoever doesn’t even matter when Lance closes his eyes and leans forward again.

Unmistakably asking for more, effectively destroying Keith’s last bastion of resistance.

He goes and takes what’s being offered, and the initial awkwardness gives way to something else when, between their renewed kissing, trembling hands grab Keith’s neck, long fingers dragging up his skin and drawing burning lines along it, moving as if they were searching for something. Suddenly, Keith feels a pull on his hair that makes him let out a hiss embarrassingly similar to a moan. With Lance now hiding his face by pressing his cheek to his and insisting on pulling, it takes Keith a moment to understand that he is tugging at his hair tie and is clumsily trying to get rid of it.

Not like Keith needs any more fuel for whatever has possessed him, but this makes his insides burn even hotter, and he drunkenly takes Lance’s hand to help him finish the job, letting his hair free, throwing the band away. A hot hand dips on it and the other drags fingers down his nape. The touch on his scalp feels like a lie, something he never even dreamed: he exhales as his mouth drags from where it is near Lance’s ear to his cheek and then, again, to his mouth.

 _Intoxicating_. That is the only thing he can process out of this, feeling his whole body burning at the touches and kisses he steals while his hands, getting bolder and more shameless with every passing second, descend to press Lance’s waist over his clothes, and a question floats in his hazy mind.

_How far can this go?_

He knows they are bound to stop at any moment, and speak, and somehow _think_ , but he honestly doesn’t feel capable of any of it.

Unless Lance wants to. Because he’s willing to give Lance whatever he wants, be it stopping, or just… more. Or less. Or all. _Anything._ But for that, he has to be given a choice first.

Keith does the most colossal effort to stop, rejoicing in one last soft pressure of lips and the hands buried on his hair before he pulls back, feeling the cold of their separation, opening his eyes and pausing to marvel at what he has done.

Lance looks like a man who has just been roughly kissed, which is exactly what happened. His dazed look and glistening swollen lips are dead giveaways. His cheeks sport red marks just below the blue ones, where Keith dragged his thumbs unconsciously, and his hair is tousled and heavy over his forehead.

A true vision under the moonlight, leaving Keith breathless again. As they stare at each other in silence, a part of his brain understands this is the perfect moment to ask what’s behind that fired gaze. Maybe to confess what’s behind his own, so they can be rational adults who expose their feelings —or lack of them— in a mature way. Because this? This, happening right now? It has to mean something, and that something must and deserves to be discussed...

But instead, Keith just stands up.

He’s wobbly. His legs feel like jelly, and he doesn’t know nor care if it’s because of the alcohol or the make out. Nothing matters, because his mind is set on one thing. Since the cat is apparently out of the bag already, there’s no reason to hide it anymore. He only has a few hours before leaving, a single night left by Lance’s side in who knows how long, and one way to convey his chaotic feelings when words fail him.

In silence, he extends one hand towards him.

The man looks from it and up to Keith’s face and, for a moment, he is sure Lance will look the other way and it’ll be over. Maybe he’ll just open his mouth to say something heartbreaking, or demand for an explanation, or he’ll just leave him there, flustered and regretting everything. Keith wonders if he is even ready for that and concludes too late that no, he is not, his heart painfully beating in a clumsy compass, driven by the weirdest mix of lust and overwhelming fear. Breathing is hard during those long seconds while his hand hangs in the air, shaky and expectant.

But then, long fingers grab it and use him for leverage to stand up, also a bit wobbly. The hand doesn’t let go and Keith exhales a shaky breath, slowly turning his head to peer at the open glass door behind them, and then at Lance. The message is clear.

Lance doesn’t let go.

Without breaking eye contact, he pulls him softly as he walks backward.

Lance still doesn’t let go, following his lead.

They cross the glass door and Keith closes it with his free hand.

And Lance, against all odds, against all expectations, _still_ doesn’t let go.

And that’s when Keith decides that all fears, all untold words, and the entire universe can wait outside until tomorrow, because right now, he won’t let anything get in his way to having Lance for himself the way he has always dreamed, not even their unspoken feelings and the many things he could and maybe should say. After all, he has always been a man of action rather than words, and what’s more telling than the way he leans forward like a hungry animal to kiss Lance again in the privacy of his room?

In this enclosed space he can hear every hitch and change of their breathing, the sounds of their mouths clashing becoming provocative and erotic, awakening all kinds of instincts that take over Keith’s dulled mind.

He slides his hands under Lance’s shirt and the sensation of that hot skin prickling under his fingers is enough to send the coiling heat in his gut to the rest of his body like molten lava in his veins. Lance is holding his neck and hair again, uncharacteristically quiet, and he decides he can’t take this any longer. Walking forward he pushes Lance until his legs hit the bed and he falls back on it, with Keith taking off his jacket and tossing it to the side to crawl over him and try to distinguish his face in the dim light. Their only sources of light are the moonlight that filters through the glass, casting a soft silvery frame over the walls, and the very faint glow of Lance’s Altean marks, that at least are enough to let Keith see his eyes and their current heated expression.

His hand goes to Lance’s face again, his thumb brushing his lips, rough and slowly, and he notes the way a shiver runs down the other man’s body, the way he lies under him in silence, pliant, but also tense. The last voice of reason left in his mind advises him to tone down his intensity, which he knows is seeping through his movements and the way he stares at Lance, unable to hide his desire, now fearing to overwhelm him with it. He is fully exposing himself and his feelings in this vague agreement, and that notion hits him hard enough to make one last, desperate pause.

When he speaks, his voice is just a husky whisper, but it still resounds in the quiet room like an intrusive echo, breaking the silence.

“Are you scared?”

It’s not ill-intended, nor mocking. It’s a serious question he didn’t think through and has nothing to do with their teasing from before, this time being just his way to ask for Lance’s perception of him and ask for permission to finally proceed, but it changes the atmosphere in a blink. Lance suddenly blushes more profusely and frowns, his eyes — slightly clouded by the drink, maybe—  quickly sweep through Keith’s features and then pierce his eyes in what feels like a resentful scowl.

The Blade can only regret his poor choice of words for a second before he feels his head being propelled down by a hand on his nape, until their foreheads touch. Lance doesn’t stop looking at him, both breathing each other’s air, almost tasting the alcohol in it, as their noses brush and their lips tease for contact but don’t meet, slow motions maddening and confusing, until the shadow of a smirk appears in Lance’s tipsy face. And Keith finally gets it.

It’s a challenge. Because this is Lance, and with him, everything is _always_ a competition.

Not only that but Keith realizes, hit by another wave of excitement, that this is _his_ Lance, at last. He can feel it in his electric gaze and that cocky grin. The Lance he remembers and loves and desires and missed so much, the one who would always get on his way just to catch some of his attention, the one that could pull him out of the deepest apathy and lit a flame in his soul, opening a new world for him. It fills Keith’s longing heart, already threatening to burst in his chest.

And because some things never change, he helplessly takes the bait, just like he did when he was a teenager, every single time. He doesn’t question the easy way on which Lance is leaving all decisions to him, drunk in his smell and taste when he takes his lips again, when he explores the soft skin of his neck, right behind his ears, as his hand roams down his body and claws his hip, his head drawing a blissful blank that only asks for _more_.

It becomes another of their back and forths. When Lance sits to try to take off his shirt, Keith leaves scorching hot kisses and nips along his jawline. When Keith bites his neck, Lance pulls his hair with a growl and drags nails down his naked back. Stopping his back from arching, Keith pins him down with his whole body, feeling now with his own the flush of that dark skin he has craved for so long. Chest to chest, Keith is sure Lance will feel the beats of his heart like a loud confession ramming against him, as they roll in the bed, legs tangling, hands undoing remaining clothes and tousling hair blindly.

It’s uncontrollable delirium. It’s sweat, and heat and the intrusive smell of juniberries that doesn’t come from outside but from their bodies, filling the closed room with this mixed scent, new and private. It’s a tangle of slick skin, hands roaming and mouths clumsily exploring, searching for a way to coax the other to fall, to give up on resisting and holding up moans and reflexes.

It’s a war that Keith feels he is winning, more daring and less afraid to cross lines, because he’s set on knowing every inch of Lance’s body with hot palms and an eager mouth, memorizing all lines, curves and dips he finds, and as time passes, Lance’s cockiness shifts into stubborn resistance, and then into some kind of tired surrender when, with startled eyes, he watches Keith taking him into his mouth, speechless and melting into it in a struggle to keep quiet, which only makes Keith fall deeper into mindless arousal, challenged again this way— and pretty much winning.

His modest experience with men tells him they can’t take it any further and that’s fine for him, lost in the pleasure of having Lance under him this way, trying to uncover his secrets, the details he could only imagine before. Alcohol has long left his body, but he is high on that hot skin anyway and stunned by the sound of his own name that escapes from Lance’s lips like a helpless sigh, he confirms his victory, suddenly letting go of him right on the edge and coaxing an angry grumble from his partner, who throws an arm over his face, frustrated, shaky and, again, stubbornly silent.

Keith trails up his body and only stops to print a wet lingering kiss on the crook of his neck, just an excuse to feel his rampaging pulse, before reaching for his jaw again. Lance closes his eyes now, flushed and close to breaking down, reason why, controlling his own ragging breathing, Keith grabs the arm covering Lance’s face and pins it to the mistreated pillow, while the other hand travels down his torso again, never tired of following the same path and making the same stops, fingers provoking notorious shivers on him.

“Lance,” Keith calls him because he wants to see his face, and Lance opens his eyes just barely, lids heavy as he looks into his with an indecipherable expression and pressed lips. A concerned whisper inside his head tells Keith that something has changed, but so close to their breaking point, he can’t think, he _won’t_ think.

“Lance,” he repeats, and the sound drowns in his partner’s mouth when he kisses him, working to push both of them to their limit, to the climax he seeks desperately but also fears, because whatever comes after it is a mystery.

He opens his eyes in the chaos and finds in the dim light the sight of Lance’s blue ones fixed on him, looking like they are about to go down on a rollercoaster or to take a leap of faith before closing shut when white pleasure seeps down his spine like electricity and Keith swiftly follows. He drowns on it, an overload of sensations marking the culmination of so many dreams and fantasies, of years of wishing and longing for this. And none of them even compared to the real deal, he vaguely realizes, in the wonderful haze of his clouded mind and the white noise filling his head, as the tremors slowly stop.

The world comes back in slow waves of consciousness, his senses being claimed back one by one and giving him quick reports of his surroundings. The room is hot and the air feels musky and heavy, just like their bodies that lie side by side over damp sheets that stick to their sides and backs, as is to be expected in such a small space, in such a hot summer night.

But even during his afterglow Keith is alert, struggling to regain control over his limbs, opening his eyes and propelling his body up with one arm, to look at Lance. His mind is surprisingly clear now, dissipating the myst of the alcohol and fatigue, and his pulse runs faster again when he realizes this _really_ just happened, and it happened with the man he loves. He tries to see him, the corners of his mouth twitching in confused bliss, unable to accept this longed happiness so easily, just in case it could be another cruel dream of his.

However, after a few seconds of silent observation, he notices. Keith tilts his head to look closer at Lance’s face, and his closed eyes and semi-open mouth confirm it.

“Are you serious?” he mumbles. The man is asleep and Keith has a full view of his slumbering figure, as much as the soft light of the moon, weaker now, allows seeing. Sure, it’s a nice view, but _did he really have to fall asleep right after it?_

He wants to be mad, but instead, he feels a breathy laugh leave his tight chest. Keith is left alone to confront the unglamorous side of love making, with a torrent of feelings caught in his throat. He looks down at his stomach and the poor sheets, and feels his body weakening before the proof of what happened.

Again, not soft, nor elegant, but absolutely real. He covers part of their bodies with the first blanket he finds at their feet, and takes one last look at Lance’s body, hearing his encompassed breathing. It makes sense, he supposes. He normally sleeps early, and with the extras of the liquor and the _exercise_...  

Keith’s mouth curves into a tired smile, and if he didn’t fear to wake him up, he’d kiss those closed lids and dark lashes. He would kiss him all over again, in fact, just to make sure, in the improbable case his feelings weren’t exposed enough.

“Lightweight,” he whispers near his ear instead, his fingers finding and grazing Lance’s gloriously naked ring finger, and blinking slowly, he presses his lips one last time against Lance’s shoulder, lingering there for a few seconds, as if to print the memory of that skin into them, before scooting down the bed to keep facing him, but carefully avoiding to crush his arm.

Surprisingly, Keith feels drowsiness overcoming him now. He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep after such a rush of adrenaline, but it’s apparently the opposite. Lying next to Lance feels like the natural state of things, like it’s meant to be, and he can’t help thinking on how different it is from… everything. From his lone beds, and especially, from the beds he’s shared with a few others in fleeting attempts to find _it_. The place where your heart is at. He thinks he gets it now.

He sleepily gazes at Lance’s face and his marks that stand out in the darkness of the night. He watches the way his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, while his lips twitch.

He thinks _‘I could do this a thousand times'_.

He thinks _‘I could actually do this forever’_.

And that simple realization drowns the shadow that lurks in his heart at the uncertainty of their situation and his imminent leave. It prickles his skin again, like a shiver, softer and slower than the ones from before. Whatever tomorrow holds, this is a moment he is claiming, and no one can steal that from him.

His whole body hums with fatigue that’s different from the one he has felt for weeks. This feels like a satisfactory depletion. It’s quiet and warm and invites him to drift off without even noticing.

Right before his tired eyes finally close, he dares to wish Lance will still be there next morning, falling into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Lance isn’t there next morning.

Keith wakes up startled, still in the dark. The room is now fresh and smells like dew and juniberries. He sits on the bed and the space by his side is cold. Lance left at some point, and the glass door is open, letting the chill of dawn enter freely.

There’s something unnerving in this setup, he thinks, standing up and feeling a shiver that he blames on the air and not the bad feeling that looms over his mind. He decides he won’t listen to it.

Looking outside, he finds his poor Kosmo sleeping in the wooden platform. Aside from him, the fields are empty and still dark, but the lilac line in the horizon announces the end of the night and the crack of dawn, and therefore, before the inhabitants of the house wake up, he has to hurry up. He doesn’t know what to do with the sheets but he washes from the rest of the evidence of his night with Lance, recalling one by one the scenes that are now engraved in his mind and that he would enjoy remembering, if not for this new anxiety settling right behind his ribs.

He gets out praying that no one will enter the room before Lance can probably get to it, and wakes up Kosmo, who trots by his side down the fields, while he looks around trying to find a sight of dark skin and blue eyes waiting for him, to have the talk they owe each other, to stutter explanations maybe, or excuses. He is nowhere to be seen, but Keith doesn’t stop, walking a straight line to his ship now, obeying a sudden hunch.

And there he is. Tall and quiet, waiting.

Keith’s heart leaps in his chest and he walks forward at a fast pace. Lance’s back is turned to him while he apparently watches the ship, arms crossed.

He changed his clothes. His hair looks wet. Keith’s footsteps slow down a bit because he starts feeling something unnatural and uncomfortable in the air.

A wall. Something unnerving in the complete erasure of what happened from Lance’s appearance. Keith doesn’t know why would he expect any different, but is still shocked by it, fully halting his steps a few meters away from Lance.

Keith sways a bit on his feet before he finally speaks.

“Good morning.”

A pause. Lance doesn’t flinch but also doesn’t turn his way.

“Hey,” he answers.

Keith feels his hands trembling and he clenches them into fists to stop them.

“Lance, I—”

“I thought about your offer. You know, from… from last night,” Lance says suddenly, and Keith’s heart stops beating for what feels like an eternity, the same eternity it takes for Lance to slowly turn to face him.

He looks tired and pale, and the taut line of his lips announces bad news but Keith still won’t listen to it, going instead right to his eyes, scanning them for honest answers, for any trace of the embers of last night. Maybe because he feels it, Lance struggles to hold that gaze, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I— I can’t go with you. But... thank you. For trusting me.”

Keith tells himself he already knew that, so he shouldn’t be this disappointed, but it doesn’t stop the sensation that he has started bleeding inside. And now he is filled by an overwhelming fear of hearing the rest of it, the true reason behind that choice.

“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t add anything else, frozen by dread.

Silence. He expects for Lance to say something else, but instead, he is quiet, looking at his own feet now. Keith feels his mouth dry and, in a corner of his mind, he considers it so unfair, to always have to tail behind Lance, to coax him to talk. But he needs answers…

“Is that all you have to say?” he asks, sounding as cold as he feels inside.

Lance stills, swallowing. A few seconds pass, and the fields seem to get even more chilly in this unbearable pause.

“Yeah,” he finally says, his voice low and thick. And then, “Sorry.”

Keith presses his lips and looks at the trees in the distance, hearing the song of the cicadas and the innocent noise of the cattle surrounding them. Comforting before, intrusive now, in the middle of this moment he dreaded so much, but still came his way.

Even if Lance doesn’t have anything to say, he does, but he is not being asked back to tell any of it. Any of the millions of words and confessions he has been mulling over for years, sometimes angry, sometimes sad, sometimes just lonely. And the few ones among them he picked this morning, after waking up to a disappointing empty bed.

‘ _I love you. I did this because I love you. I came here because I love you. You heal me because I love everything about you.'_

_'If you let me, I’ll try to heal you too. If you let me, I swear I’ll give it my best shot.’_

Confessions and promises being replaced by panicked questions.

‘ _Why won’t you look at me? Are you mad? Are you disappointed? Are you ashamed?'_

_'...Are you scared?’_

An echo from last night, from their past, from their beginning. The words that ignited the flame in Lance’s eyes, the same that fooled him into thinking he had a chance at something. Anything.

He says none of these things, instead nodding slowly and biting the inside of his cheek. He stands there until he manages to move his feet again, feeling like a robot, walking to his ship in silence. But when he is just passing by Lance’s side, he makes the mistake of taking one last look towards the farm and the house, barely visible from the distance.

He thinks of the kids, and the laughter of Lance’s dad, of Mía pulling his hair, and Lance’s mom smiling at him and telling him to come back whenever he wants.

He inhales and exhales, and turns his head back to Lance, their shoulders just a few inches away. Trying to steady his voice, he asks:

“Can I come back here?”

And he notices, that almost imperceptible flinch on Lance’s shoulders. The way his neck turns slightly to the side and Lance’s eyes meet his only for a second before going to some blank point on the fields, spotted in pink reminders of the past. He sees him smile, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes and his eyebrows are doing that thing, that scrunch that never augurs good things.

“Of course, Keith,” he hears him say, as if he was underwater, realization hitting him like an unforgiving wave, coming from those eyes that won’t look, just won’t look at him. That fake smile that makes him sick, that voice making a courtesy statement.

“You’re always welcome here.”

And it’s in the way that voice sounds distant and tense and fake; in the way that body is putting a barrier between them like he is resisting the evident impulse to step back… Keith just _knows_.

He nods again. He walks with Kosmo the few steps separating him from his ship. He hops into it, and without another word from him, nor from Lance, he shuts the hatch.

The ship comes to life, the bright panels welcoming him. He takes flight while he sets the course to the first relay, and once outside Earth’s atmosphere, he lays back on his seat and raises a hand in front of his eyes. The same hand that roamed down shivering skin, tracing the dip of Lance’s back while he felt his sweet breath over his mouth, the memory burned into him. But he  _knows_.

His fingers twitch and suddenly, his vision is blurry and wavering. His eyes sting, because he knows for sure that, even though these feelings aren’t leaving him any time soon, he has exchanged the quiet, comfortable peace of their secret for just a taste of something he’ll yearn forever from now on and in the process, he stupidly raised the price for it by adding a place and people and beautiful memories.

And then he lost it.

He lost his newfound home.

 

* * *

 

Five months pass in a confusing and quick whirlwind of news and work. Keith sleeps only when he is dead tired and wakes up when his body tells him to, and that way, he finally stops the nightmares. In fact, his mind feels strangely empty and detached from everything. He knows his fellow Blades worry about his mental state, but unlike before, they let him be, in part because he really _is_ doing better, being functional and, asides from his new concerning sleeping habits, acting normal; and in part because they are afraid of making Keith mad again, after he has just forgiven them for their little betrayal he discovered the same day he came back.

Bad news never come alone, and that day his broken heart couldn’t even finish processing what had happened on Earth when his mother contacted him while he was still on the way back to Mar-Sara, to throw over him another bucket of cold water.

“I’m sorry Keith,” she said. “It was me who asked the Blades to make you go away.”

“What? Why?” he asked, absolutely lost.

“Because we had a suspicion, and we needed to confirm it,” she said, her face hard and full of concern. “And we did. The incident at the mine wasn’t an accident, it was attempted murder.”

His mother, always calm and collected, couldn’t fully conceal her emotions this time.

“Keith... they were trying to kill you.”

His mouth opened in confusion.

“What do you mean— Why?!” he asked again. Krolia sighed.

“Malekar.” One of the Council members, he recalled. “He is a traditionalist and wants me and Kolivan out of the way. We are sure he is trying to get rid of you, because you are exactly what he doesn’t want for the Confederation, and at the same time, he knows that if anything happened to you, it would weaken us.” She presses her lips so much they almost disappear, pure rage. “One shot and many results. We suspect someone in Mar-Sara supports him, and that’s the only reason they suddenly asked for your help. It was a trap, and it luckily failed.”

Absurd, thought Keith, feeling his head invaded by white noise. Everything was absurd. Keith dragged his hands down his face, not knowing what to make of this.

“That’s why, Keith, you must leave that place at once—”

“No,” he interrupted her. “I won’t leave. If they are capable of killing their own people for something like that, we will unmask them. And we will protect those people, because they need us. I spoke to them, mom. They really need our help.”

“Keith, don’t be a fool.” Krolia’s cold words were imbued of fear. “They never needed your help, this is not a game. They did it once, and they will try again. And even if they don’t, they only want to put the people against you. It’s dangerous.”

But Keith wasn’t listening, deafened by his anger and frustration, while the image of the funerary pyres appeared before his eyes, the way the people mourned their loved ones. Innocent people, suffering for some fucking political move that he was unaware of. His latent guilt came back stronger than ever but fueled by pure rage inside his heart.

“The Council’s affairs are not our concern. If people need us, we’ll be there. And if they suspect us, we’ll prove them wrong. It’s what we’ve done for years now, and the Blade won’t run away and hide because of some petty fights among the Council,” hissed Keith, leaving Krolia shocked and a bit hurt. It wasn’t her fault, he knew, but she didn’t understand his position either.

She obviously wanted to press, but then she looked closer at him, and Keith felt suddenly transparent before her knowing gaze. Her voice became softer and soon her eyes followed, like every time she dropped the politician mask before him and went back to be just Krolia, his mom.

“Keith. Are you alright?”

Fresh from his own personal tragedy, he felt his pride crumble. His throat hurt and sadness threatened to overflow him again. How childish was it of him to wish for a hug of his mother, and a chance to tell her why his heart was broken?

Containing his emotions, he tried to compose himself. She was worried enough as it was.

“I will be,” he answered instead, as he tried to smile. “But... don’t ask me to leave. I can’t do that.”

Krolia seemed to understand she wouldn’t get anything from him this particular day, but she was far from giving up.

“You and I will speak of this again. But, Keith...” She got closer to the screen as if she wished to cross it. “You can tell me anything. I’ll always have time for you, don’t forget it.”

And grateful as he was, knowing he was sincerely loved, he still didn’t make use of that kindness, saving his pain to himself. He avoided telling her, the same way he avoided everyone else.

He didn’t tell Shiro when he called him to nag him for visiting Earth and not telling him.

He didn’t tell Pidge, who kept contacting him, though he carefully avoided any mention of Lance, excusing himself if she happened to mention him.

He didn’t tell Hunk, who he met at a party to which he was invited the third month, though he tried not to look too much at him and Shay, stupidly hurt by their lovestruck glances.

He didn’t tell his fellow Blades, who all tried to make him budge. His closest circle had very strong suspicions about _the issue_ , and he stubbornly resisted all attacks from Acxa, who casually mentioned the news she got from Earth through Verónica; from Ezor and Zethrid, who’d try everything from cornering him to get him wasted; and even from Ildan, who soon stopped his flirting, noticing that something had changed and not for good like he, in an apologetical confession, told him he expected.

And definitely, he didn’t tell Coran, when he called to remind him of their ninth reunion for Allura’s Day, coming just around the corner.

Incredible that they were so close already, five months of emptiness passing by eerily quick. He never really expected for Lance to call him, but it was still disheartening to get the radio silence treatment. In all fairness, he was doing the same, but he felt that at least he had a good reason for it. After all, _he_ was the dumbass who had exposed his feelings loud and clear, misguided by whatever moved Lance to act like he acted that day, only to be rejected without a minimal explanation, not even an excuse or basically any type of acknowledgment. Even if he didn’t _say_ anything. Even if he _should_ have said something…

 _'Whatever'_ , he repeated himself a thousand times. He _did_ show instead of telling.

And nothing good came out of it, anyway.

But now, since Coran’s call, Keith’s anxiety is back and peaking. For months he thought about this unavoidable moment, but just a few days away from the fatal date, he is still unable to imagine how their encounter will go. Lance will be there, no doubt. And to make it more awkward, in front of Allura’s statue, no less…

His first impulse after the call was to find an excuse to not attend. Somehow, he feels ashamed of showing his face at Altea and in front of his friends. But they have no guilt in any of the things happening between him and Lance, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t miss them. Besides, Allura’s Day is more than a mere friends reunion. He could never skip it over such a petty quarrel and just because he allowed his fellow ex-paladin to break his heart.

So, instead, he thinks that maybe this forced reunion will help them go back to ‘normal’. If he gets to repress his feelings, to cut the flow of memories when he sees him and suppress all bitterness and resentment, he thinks they can put on convincing masks, greet each other faking amnesia, and just… go on with their lives, cordial and, in due time, maybe even friendly again. Maybe for Lance it would be easier— definitely not the first time. Keith knows very well of his ability to forget what isn’t comfortable for him.  _How convenient must that be._

He is just thinking about it, bitterly pressing the corners of the screen on his hands when Acxa, who is working by his side, interrupts his ruminations.

“Allura’s Day is coming,” she suddenly comments, like she is reading his mind, without looking away from her own screen. Keith’s eyes stop absently traveling between the numbers in front of him, but he doesn’t raise them. He just hums in acknowledgment, and they let a few seconds pass by in silence.

“So… Are you going?” she finally asks.

He can feel Acxa’s eyes peering at him now, but he still refuses to look up.

“Are you worried about me?” he asks, instead of answering. His second in command exhales loudly, before replying:

“Yes. Honestly, Keith, I didn’t expect you to come back worse,” she confesses.

Keith presses his lips.

“I didn’t come back worse,” he argues.

“Well, maybe not. But still, you came back different. And after so long, we really hope you can fix what’s hurting you soon,” she says, lowering her voice.

Fix what is hurting him, huh. That’s not possible, but still. Keith bitterly smiles, moved by his friend’s concern.

He knows he is worrying everyone. He also knows it’s overdue time to stop acting like a heartbroken teenager and move on, after so many months of brooding. It’s just been… hard. Because taking a look at the blissful domesticity he could have had if only his feelings were accepted made the rejection tougher than it would have been if he never tasted it. If he never tasted _him_...

But he can’t keep acting this way, and he knows it.

“Thanks,” he says, and his smile softens a bit, letting go of its bitterness. It feels good. “I… think things will get better when we finish this. When we leave Mar-Sara.”

It’s true. After five months the job is almost complete, and no new incidents have occured. Keith stubbornly stayed there, leaving only for official business, and the Blades were always alert, never leaving him alone. The Council has been quiet too, but living with accusing and creepy eyes on his back for so long, Keith is craving for a change. Going back to their constant moving around, and leaving behind tragedies and bad memories.

Acxa looks at him, sympathetic.

“We are done with this. We’ll inaugurate it, collect all our intel and leave. Just in time for Allura’s Day, too,” she says, trying to cheer him up.

“Yeah… right in time for that,” mumbles Keith, zero enthusiasm.

Acxa says nothing about it, and for that he is grateful.

 

* * *

 

The job is done. The mine can function, the people threw them a celebratory banquet looking genuinely grateful, and the Blades did their own toast, tired and eager to leave. Allura’s Day is coming and, like every year, they are free to go wherever they want for it, so they start leaving the day before one by one.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” asks Acxa, still reluctant to leave before her leader. Keith gives her an encouraging smile.

“It’s fine, I’ll leave soon. When they bring Kosmo back from the mine, I’ll go,” he says. His wolf helped the scientists to smell flammable quintessence scraps left in the air after the collapse of the mine, and today they asked for his services one last time before his departure.

Acxa looks restless, though.

“Leave as soon as you can. It’s the last day, but they can still try something.”

“Nothing will happen. Besides, Zethrid and Ezor will stay here too,” Keith says. The couple had no rush to go anywhere, so they promised to escort him to Altea, even if they offered it with smug smiles.

His right-hand woman looks at him with worried eyes one last time, before riding her ship.

“Take care, Keith. I’ll see you in two quintants, I hope.”

“See you. Give Verónica my regards.”

He can see Acxa blush —like always, even after this long—, and that makes him smile. He tries not to think of Verónica’s brother, though. It proves to be hard, he notices, walking back to the base through a strangely empty street, when suddenly, a small figure that comes running out of nowhere intercepts him.

“Paladin Keith!” exclaims the kid. A small Galra child, that in a pinch of nostalgia, reminds him vividly of Andy. In his pocket, he still carries the carcass of a snail.

His face switches to a kind smile.

“Yeah?” he asks, bending a knee to speak to him.

“It’s urgent! They said to tell you that your wolf is hurt! He’s at the mine!” blurts the kid, pulling the sleeve of his uniform.

“Kosmo?!” asks Keith, immediately standing up.

“Yes, they told us to find you and let you know!” announces the kid, and Keith nods, running in the direction of the mine. He knew Kosmo was there with the scientists like many times before, what could have happened?

When he crosses the entrance and no guards are there, he has the first suspicion. Looking around the maze-like construction, he sees that at least all entrances are open, and all lights working.

What if something happened further ahead, and the guards were there? What if Kosmo was really hurt? That idea fills him with dread and beats the suspicions, and so, he just keeps running and crossing the narrow paths to the heart of the vein, while trying to activate his comm and call Zethrid for backup.

When he understands the comm is dead on his ear realization hits him, but it’s already too late. Alarms suddenly start sounding all around, and a strange smell fills the tunnel he is walking through.

And then, a voice calls him from behind in an echoey shout.

“Paladin Keith?!”

He turns to it. There’s a young man there, a known face. Keith immediately recognizes him as the young worker he saved months ago, from this very same mine. However, the man’s face is distorted by fear now.

“Don’t go any further!” he shouts, extending a hand and signaling him to come back, desperate. “Don’t! Come back, don’t— TAKE COVER IN THE LIFT!”

The door to the section closes shut between them and the man bangs it from the other side, while Keith turns his head to the front and hears it before he sees it. A rumbling sound, like a crushing wave, coming his way.

 

_Fire and loss, two things he is sadly acquainted with…_

 

His feet react before his mind, obeying what the young man said blindly, running with all his might the short way back to the lift he passed a while ago, feeling with his whole body the temperature rising and the panic building in the back of his head, dulled by a rush of adrenaline.

He reaches the elevator just in time to curl in a corner of it, and he realizes.

He doesn’t have Kosmo to save him this time.

He doesn’t have any trick, any cover to stop the explosion from eating him alive.

He is a fool, and he is trapped.

 

_When the Dark Lady decides it’s a good day to come for your ass..._

 

The rumble is deafening now, the heat unbearable. His eyes can see the murderous glint coming from the tunnel and his body, glued to one corner of the lift, moves on its own again.

Almost a decade later, he still extends one arm unconsciously, sending the order to activate an unexisting shield and a long gone bayard. An infallible reflex, a way to cling to life he hasn’t used in years… And just when his brain is deciphering the uselessness of this move, there is a strange glow that comes from his arm, in the precise instant the wave passes by his location, and something protects him from the worst of the flames and the impact, something that faintly smells like juniberries, but soon he can’t detect it anymore, his nose and lungs burning with the candent dust he is inhaling. In less than a second, the wave collides with the closed door ahead in the tunnel, creating an implosion that turns the world into a silent and dark void, and his arm feels crushed by the sudden weight of metal and dirt, menacing to bury him alive.

 

 **_「_ ** **_Do you have any regrets?_** ** _」_ **

 

In the chaos he’s deaf, blind, and holding up out of sheer will power. There’s too much pressure over his arms and the burning pain in his chest and throat doesn’t let him breathe. Knowing he won’t be able to hold on for more than maybe a few more seconds, all his senses seem to give him a parting gift.

The soft touch of a pelt.

The smell of his mother.

A voice telling him to never give up on himself.

The flavor of juniberries and something dear, something wonderful in his mouth.

 

 **_「_ ** **_Do you have any regrets?_ ** **_」_ **

 

 _‘I should have said I love you’,_ he thinks, feeling his consciousness already slipping away, his trembling arms threatening to give up.

And in his mind, now emptied from any physical sensitivity, memories pass like a silent movie. Memories of laughter and kisses and a chilly morning. Of hands, and hair, and telltale looks. He said I love you. He really did.

And that’s why, in the split second before he gives up, time seems to stop long enough for his heart, not his dulled mind, to answer in one last beat the cursed question that accompanied him until the end.

 

 **_「_ ** **_Do you have any regrets?_ ** **_」_ **

 

Blue eyes, crinkling in the corners.

One last beat, with a decided and defiant answer.

 

_‘No. I don’t.’_

 

And his eyes close, while darkness engulfs his mind and he drifts into oblivion… with no regrets whatsoever.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no Major Character Death tag, meaning, there's NO Major Character Death in this story. So put down the pitchforks and let me show you chapter 2! I promise I will also explain why Lance is being so... you know. The man has his own things going on. But I only write happy endings, so... *Wink wink*
> 
> I'd be eternally grateful if you let me know your opinion. Thank you so much for reaching this point, you can also find me on [Tumblr](http://www.silverineontherun.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/silverineon). Cheers!!


End file.
